


Something to Rely On

by MintyNutmeg



Category: Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Action, Drama, F/M, Romance, Slow Build, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-08-24
Updated: 2014-11-22
Packaged: 2017-12-24 12:17:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 21
Words: 82,398
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/939915
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MintyNutmeg/pseuds/MintyNutmeg
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Trudging through the world, thoughts muffled, gaze distracted - that was how she had lived. She had been fine with that. She never expected much, really: things were what they were. But your world can change - sometimes you're forced to change with it. You can try to avoid it. But, in the end...you gotta do what you gotta do. Slow-burn and thoughtful Daryl/OC.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1 - Chance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The lead-up to first contact.

Chapter 1 - Chance  
  
Sunshine blazed endlessly through the treetops.  
  
It beat down through the branches without much diffusion at all – so strong and sharp that the leafy masses above the campsite did little to blunt its edge. Outwards pointing rays reflected off of the Winnebago, briefly hitting Dale as he sat back in creaky lawn chair and rubbed at his complaining back with a withheld groan before bouncing down and drowning the little groups lounging underneath in a flood of heat.  
  
That morning had started off all the worse for them all in the unbearable warmth, as Shane had finally had enough of the stuck mechanism for the extendable roof of the RV and had determinedly pulled at the frozen lever so roughly that it snapped off, the small bit of shade they had managed to extract before abruptly snapping backwards and firmly refusing to return. After that, Amy had discovered they were all out of the little bottle of sunscreen she had stored away at the bottom of her bag, drying up depressingly quickly when they all agreed to keep it for the children, smothering their milky little shoulders in order to give them even a small respite from the red raw burns to come from their hours on end spent outdoors. All in all, as Shane had admitted to an unamused looking Jim and Dale when it became apparent that the roof wasn't coming back down regardless of how much oil they poured on the broken lever, it hadn't been the best start to the day.  
  
Every few hours, a few sparse gusts of wind would weakly lurch through the hills, a scarce comfort to those that had given up completely on any form of activity, boiling and roasting over much like the little canned carrots Lori was steaming in a pot, her dented brow spotted with sweat. Each small breeze bathed them in the powerfully permeating odour of raw sweat and restlessness, catching and cloying uncomfortably in their dry throats, halting them where they sat grousing and fidgeting around in little groups. Usually bustling with some sort of activity, the camp had thereby been reduced to practical stagnation, with the overwhelmed inhabitants either milling around aimlessly in an attempt to curry some form of cool air about themselves or softly fanning each other with whatever malleable material they could – Dale steadfastly pointing out that their meagre supply of paper should probably go to something other than cooling them all down through vigorous fanning.  
  
As time went on, the heat only got worse, as the unforgiving change of Georgian seasons punished them all in their exposed little tents – which, unfortunately, did not house the air conditioning units they had all come to rely on so heavily, leaving them melting in the extreme warmth. Night gave little respite from the feverish temperature, with all of the residents of the shanty town they had abruptly settled checking the thermometer in the RV every few minutes only to find that only a few degrees Fahrenheit dropped sullenly off of the measure as the dank evening crawled in. Then, despairing at this constant frustration as they tried to find some comfort on the thin plastic bottoms of their new homes, ignoring as best they could the niggling rocks digging into their backs, they awkwardly trundled off to sleep, brows dented, thoughts swimming.  
  
It was with this knowledge of their collective stagnation and the restless tedium of all around him that Carl tried to quash the niggling, immature, yet absolutely _i_ _ncessant_ want for chocolate sprinkled ice-cream.  
  
It'd go down a treat right about now, he thought. The coldness would do wonders on his sweating form, alleviating some of the horrible, tense heat that gathered on his cheekbones as the last vestiges of sunscreen washed away in his twitchy monotony, leaving him exposed and uncomfortably pink. Staring down with unseeing eyes at the textbooks Glenn had scavenged from a small, out-of-the-way bookshop he had found in his sojourns to downtown Atlanta, blankly clicking his chewed pencil against the little makeshift table Dale had lugged down from the RV, he found himself absolutely unable to concentrate - whether due to this heat or his own vice of laziness, he couldn't tell. Either way, he was completely out of it.  
  
Sophia had made a brave attempt at scribbling some solutions to maths problems in the margin of another useless reality TV star's autobiography, but she, too, had given up before long, her vacant gaze staring off into the distance, mouth hanging slightly open, fingers fidgeting slowly over one another. She never really looked all there, to be honest – always submissively quiet and meek since he had known her – but the blasting heat from overhead did little to bring her out from her shell. A water-spotted tin can of water sat beside her opened book, untouched as she remained absorbed in her own little world, having forgotten her mother's soft reminder to keep hydrated in the warmth as she quietly walked away to do laundry at the quarry with her perpetually scowling husband, whose dark eyes fixed carefully on his daughter and Carl before he turned the corner.  
  
As his languid mind paused momentarily on Sophia's father, the strange, altogether peculiar man who hitched his mother's shoulders up when he walked by, Carl frowned, Shane's Cynthiana PD cap shifting slightly on his head as his brow furrowed. Along with his mother's aforementioned strange behaviour where the man was concerned, he had noticed that Shane was also not too fond of him. It seemed like every other night he was getting in arguments with Ed, his eyes suddenly sharp and hard from their earlier good-natured warmth, lip curling as he tightly ordered the other man to rein in his separate camp-fire or some other such Shane had carefully adjusted his cap on Carl's head with a little pat that morning after Lori told him about the sun burn he was quickly developing, he had given Sophia a friendly grin and an amicable ' _Everythin' alright, sweetie?_ ' It was obvious from the flush on Sophia's cheeks and the stutter of her answer that she wasn't used to such niceties within her family, and the shy little smile she gave them both after a struck pause was the first time either of them had seen the girl moderately happy looking. Even when Shane left with Glenn to go do something, an affectionate ' _Look after your mom for me, Carl_ ' floating lazily through the air behind him, she never stopped smiling until her father walked back up to lounge aimlessly in their tent, wiping the warmth from her gaze at her first glance of him, flicking her head down and away to the baked dirt.  
  
So, yes. Carl, all in all, did not like Ed.  
  
Just as that thought fixed in his mind, dragging it all the more in the opposite direction from his 'school' work, a rustle of plastic at his back turned Carl's head around. Across from him, adjusting the crossbow on his back as he stood up from his tent, was the perpetually scowling Daryl Dixon. Dixon was a man which Carl knew little of, aside from his relation to the abrasive and dangerously loudmouthed Merle and his constant hunt for food for the camp, turning up every other night with a fresh line of bloodied squirrel which made Sophia squeal in fright. People never really talked to the man unless he was giving them something – another meal, another abandoned tent he had found, another packet of batteries – which struck Carl as a bit unfair. His own mother didn't seem to much like the man, despite all of his work. It was altogether strange, really. He seemed okay to him – if a tad bit intimidating  
  
However, Carl didn't think more on this when he saw the man tighten the notched leather strap on his back and double-check his sheathed hunting knife – instead, he focussed on the weapon the man always carried around with him: his ubiquitous crossbow. Just as the perpetually scowling Southerner man took a few steps to the outer boundaries of their tiny camp, Carl abruptly stood, whipping Sophia's head up at him with a wide-eyed startle, giving her a jump before he quickly spluttered a ' _I'm just – I have to – I'll be right back, Soph_ ' and hurriedly sprinted off, the tough leather boots Glenn had scavenged for him clacking wildly against each other with each rushed step.  
  
He reached the older man just as he yanked back a low-lying tree branch and started to move through the space he had created, and so hastily addressed him, voice suddenly falling meekly even in its urgency, "Uh, Mr Dixon? Could I – talk to you for a minute?"  
  
'Mr Dixon' stopped abruptly where he stood, posture straightening, hand halting where it pulled against the leafy mass. After a momentary pause, he slowly turned his head, brow raised, seeming to do a double take at being addressed in such a formal manner as he looked back at Carl, who fidgeted where he stood, already starting to regret his hurried decision to speak to the man. Then, brow furrowed again, giving a habitual sharpness to his addressal in the hopes that whatever the kid wanted would be dealt with sooner if he was prompt, Daryl asked gruffly, "What d'you want?"  
  
Carl held back a forming lump in his throat, gulping it away heavily as he forcefully pulled back his shoulders and tried to make his voice seem a bit steadier than it actually was as he began, nervousness suddenly overtaking him at the tall man's hard gaze, "Uh, well, I – was hoping, uh," he halted, voice abruptly faltering, the words he had been thinking on the last few days quite suddenly flying from his mind, leaving him gaping uselessly, mortified at his embarrassing lack of speech, "Um."  
  
Utterly silent, Daryl watched with a firmly stony expression before he seemed to grow impatient with the still nervously juttering pre-teen and cut in sharply, "I got stuff to do, kid, so hurry up already and say what you gotta say."  
  
At that, Carl immediately halted, mouth shutting, a flush reddening his already pinkened cheeks. Then, glancing around for the briefest of moments for any sign of his mother, he finally said what he had been trying to for the last minute, "...Can you teach me how to use a crossbow?"  
  
A silence fell on them. A few birds overhead squawked obnoxiously, their cries reverberating about the quarry and hills and echoing without end around them. Back at the camp, Amy and Andrea chatted loudly about whether they thought Dale's back problems were from sitting in that dusty old chair on top of the RV or just because of his ' _quickly advancing age_ '.  
  
Eventually, allowing the branch he still held to fall with a soft rustle back in its place, Daryl turned fully around, shoulders pulled back, unreadable gaze flicking over Carl's unsettled expression. Carl waited in restless discomfort, expecting the expected shock or horror to blast up from the man any moment – none, however, came. Instead, Daryl exuded an air of calm neutrality, as though he was still waiting for Carl to say what he had been so nervous about. After a moment, recognising the young boy's surprise, he finally replied, "Y'think your mom'd be okay with that?"  
  
Brow denting, Carl paused for a moment before giving a reluctant shake of his head, a soft frown pulling down at his lips and his gaze flicking away as he answered quietly, a hand fiddling with the hem of his t-shirt, "No," his voice lowered all the more, eyes darkening, "No." He paused slightly then, mouth shutting, unsure of what to say. It was only when a loud peal of Amy's laughter lit up the air at their backs that he spoke again, voice juttering back into action, suddenly gaining some of its usual boldness, his shoulders pulling up abruptly, "But I think she's wrong."  
  
Daryl flicked his brow up at that. A shadow of a smirk almost pulled up at his lips before he quashed it, giving a quick nod to the boy, prompting him on, "Yeah? Why's that?"  
  
"Because I know that if I get separated from her and Shane, I'm gonna die," Carl's immediate response halted both of them, the boy himself struck at his own bluntness before he continued steadfastly, "I'm not tough enough to survive with all the walkers. She's never gonna let me touch a gun – but I'm not gonna give up on learning how to fight. 'Cause I need to be able to protect her as well, like," the words 'my dad did' echoed through his mind, but were held back by the skin of his clenched jaw, the faltering end of, "like I should," coming out instead.  
  
Another silence followed his barely audible conclusion, his head lowering to face the dirt, barely paying any attention to a mosquito buzzing by his nose as his brow furrowed. He had all but given up by now on the whole proposition – unwillingly aware of his thoroughly dishevelled plea and argument. In fact, he was about to make a hurried, utterly humiliated apology and sprint back away to his tent, finalising his total abandonment of his textbook by sulking ashamedly about for the rest of the day when Daryl's voice suddenly pierced the air above him.  
  
"Alright."  
  
Carl whipped his head up, mouth falling open, brow flying upwards as Daryl nodded down at him, a barely noticeable grin flashing up in his expression for a moment at the look on the boy's face as he continued, "We'll start tomorrow, when your mom's down doing laundry at the lake." Carl halted completely, a dazed smile fading into his expression, as Daryl added, shrugging with a stretch of his powerful shoulders, "You can tell her if you want, or not. I don't care so long as you don't bitch when I'm teaching you – and you help me skin some squirrels for dinner."  
  
Part of Carl – the old-world, childish part – wrinkled his nose at that last bit, but he ignored that segment of himself, his desire to learn overriding everything else and prompting him to blurt out an enthusiastic, "Okay!" At Daryl's indifferent nod, he added gratefully, "Thanks a lot, I really apprecia–"  
  
"–That's all your gettin' out of me, kid. Now look sharp – your mom's back."  
  
Sure enough, just as Daryl pointed that out with a calm flick of his head to Carl's back, a piercing call for the boy came, his mother's voice flinching his shoulders up and making him jump, voice careening off abruptly and gaze immediately shooting behind him. Glancing quickly back around to Daryl only to find the man already turned away and pushing the branch up again, Carl whispered a final, excited ' _thanks again_ ' before sprinting off back to the camp and his awaiting mother, his borrowed cap jumping about on his head with his mad running.  
  
Daryl didn't bother to respond as he walked out to the other side of the greenery and let the branch fall backwards with a loud rush of leaves, the sounds of a scolding fading away into the distance as he strode away without a backwards glance, a darkly amused grin pulling up at his lips.  
  
_____________________  
  
That goddamn buck wasn't going to get away.  
  
That was all Daryl thought of as he trudged up yet another huge, verdant hill, the metal canteen hooked loosely onto his belt clanking about with each stride of his large legs. For the past hour or so – he never bothered to keep track of minutes – he had been tracking the big, lithe animal, always missing it by just a breath. It seemed like everything was against him today: the wind always turned just as he closed in on the wary creature and suddenly revealed his location, sending it sprinting off in the other direction, and the ground was so thoroughly baked by the heat that it was hard to keep a good track of the thing. Worst of all, it was going to get dark soon, which meant that he had to hurry the hell up or go back with just another line of limp squirrels – and he was fed up with eating goddamn squirrel every single fuckin' night. The area around camp didn't have as varied a culture of wildlife as his old hunting spot, which left them with little choice as to what to eat. No turkeys, rabbit, hog...just plain shit, really. What he needed was some juicy, thick, tender-ass venison steak.  
  
The mere thought pushed his legs harder, his booted, calloused feet quickening in their pace.  
  
If he was right, the buck was just over the next hill, nearing the river – and if the thing got in the river before he got there, he was pretty much screwed. It was hard enough tracking today with the dusty grass, but if it got into the water, it was going to damn near impossible to find it again. However, as much as he needed to hurry, Daryl kept quiet, carefully avoiding twigs that could snap with a misplaced step, bending inwards on himself slightly in an attempt to minimise the scope of his scent as he started up the last hill, grip tightening on his loaded crossbow.  
  
Nothing flashed up in his senses as he slowly walked back down to level ground, finally nearing the edge of the river. The grass around him looked undisturbed aside from some slight scuffs that could've just as well come from a mouse as a buck for all their usefulness to him, leaving him cursing silently inwards to himself as the likelihood for a hearty meal faded away bit by bit.  
  
Then, quite abruptly, a twig snapped.  
  
Immediately, he turned to the source of the noise that lay ahead and to the left of him, crossbow twitching up, gaze narrowing. It could have been a geek, he supposed – but he hadn't seen any up this way for a while since they cleared out the few that had been about the quarry. Besides, the telltale moans and broken shuffles that shadowed the freakish creatures was absent from the usual woodland ambiance, birds tweeting overhead and field mice skittering about every so often, disturbed only by Daryl's stunted movements onwards. If there was one thing that made the geeks easier to detect, it was this practical alarm that they constantly emitted – then again, although a mercy in close, one-on-one circumstances, their intrinsic sounds were murderous if they were in groups, capable of alerting masses of others and bringing down a mess of death upon anyone unfortunate enough to unwillingly seize their attention.  
  
A double-edged sword, he supposed. Either way, it was clear that it was his buck that had made the noise rather than some rotting, dumbass walker, so he walked onwards, edging up to a gap in the greenery surrounding the river, the sounds of the rushing water bubbling over jutting out rocks, forcing his ears to focus all the more for any sign of the animal he hunted.  
  
Frowning tightly as he reached the small space in the trees, he tightened his finger on the trigger-guard, picking up the sounds of soft slurping that suggested the image of the buck taking a quick drink of water – a drink that would cost it its life, if he had anything to say about it. Pushing up at a particularly large branch, he moved it aside with a barely audible rustle, sticking his crossbow forward through the gap before moving his head swiftly back to its pinpoint sight. Sure enough, there stood his buck, head bent down from its elegant, sinuous neck to softly lap up some water, eyes turned down at the rippling river, chest moving gently with calm breaths.  
  
Daryl smiled in satisfaction, still bent down slightly as he shifted in on himself, shoulders tautening, finger squeezing down to pull the trigger – when he suddenly stopped. The smile slipped slowly from his face, his posture hitched, and the crossbow nearly fell from his grip.  
  
There at the side of the river, eyes wide, stood a woman.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I edited this chapter a while back (I've been posting this story for a long time on FFNet under 'Minty-Nutmeg') to be more in line with my recent style. Hence, the other earlier chapters won't be exactly in line with this one. Still, I hope you enjoyed it! I'm going to post the chapters I've already written periodically here so that readers aren't overloaded with a ton of chapters.
> 
> Please feel free to leave a comment, and thanks for reading! Jeanie and my writing belong to me.


	2. Chapter 2 - Contact

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The all-important first meeting. (May come back to edit this later)

Chapter 2 – Contact

Oblivious to the world below them, birds tweeted overhead.

An interesting fact that had emerged during the length of the so-called end of the world was that, whilst the human race was seemingly eradicated, brought to its absolute knees and left begging for mercy from a singularly unmerciful entity, the dead, birds flourished. Game birds found themselves suddenly and quite inexplicably left alone by hunters looking for both sport and a bit of gratifying food – as the hunters became, themselves, very much the hunted. Others, scavenger breeds, did as their title suggested: picking at the literal remains of human civilisation, carrion. Instinctually, they recognised the danger in infected meat, and left it well alone without prompt – but the mass mounds of victims of suicide, of murder, or of accident? In a matter of hours, they would be torn to shreds and passed from beak to beak.

The birds managed to avoid well enough the ones that simultaneously gave them a new lease of life and took away others'. Walkers were slow; birds could fly. If danger got too close, the sharp animals took to the inaccessible sky, were they were uninhibited and completely at lease to do as they wished, and go where they wished.

Sometimes, Daryl wished that he could do the same.

Across from him, the woman was sitting still. She hadn't seen him yet. She was watching the buck – his buck – as it drank, surprise that mirrored his own etched across her face. The buck did not care that he was being observed by another: likely having recognised the lack of threat the slender woman posed upon seeing her kneeling at the side of the knee-deep river that flowed down at a crossroads to both the quarry beside which the camp was set, and along to a dead-end miles away from that spot, hands still loosely gripping both a red stained shirt and a rough brush as she obviously attempted to clean out a bloodstain from her clothing.

The sun cast one of its fast dying rays out near to where she sat, unmoving, as her eyes bored ahead of her at the animal, and Daryl could see a glimmer shine up from what he suddenly noticed was her weapon – a machete or something of that sort, a reasonably primitive but nonetheless effective tool for survival. From the light muscle he saw beginning to faintly develop in her bare arms, he could tell that she could probably swing the thing rather well – further evidenced by the splattered bloodstain which lay blazing across the weathered shirt she was currently trying to clean.

Ignoring the desire to walk out into the clearing and simply address her, Daryl observed her further, ensuring that he was fully aware of the situation he was going to walk into before he made the first steps. First, he lowered his weapon, slightly – not all the way: he had learned shortly into this whole 'apocalypse' that danger was never more than a breath away from emerging. Next, he looked to the woman herself, studying her closely for any exposed wounds or tell-tale bite marks which would signal him to make the decision to either turn and walk in the other direction or quickly bring his bow back up again to aim. There were no open wounds, but there was a clean looking bandage tied taut across her forearm. He frowned: he would have to be cautious.

She wore simple, working clothes that were not baggy, probably as she had realised that bagginess was simply a handle with which geeks could seize you. Nothing was particularly striking about her: she was a pretty girl, young, probably about Glenn's age from what he could see of her, and simply average in every conceivable manner. If you passed her in the street, she would just be another faceless model of a person to bump into in the bustle, inconspicuous, an un-anomaly. Normal. Daryl found himself liking that, after being surrounded by people that were most definitely not normal for so long since this had all begun.

A large hiking bag lay on the ground next to her, practically bursting from the plethora of items he could tell were stuffed to the brim within it, and a fold-up tent was neatly tied and attached to the bottom of it, along with a large water canteen made for long-haul camping trips that looked beaten and worn. There was another bag she carried with her at her hip, a small white one with a large red cross printed strikingly across it – he realised with a smile that it was a first-aid kit, one that looked professional and well-equipped, likely military. He noted and tucked away a thought in his mind that they could barter with her to attain some medical equipment and medicine, if the opportunity presented itself.

Without any warning, the woman stood. The abruptness of her action caused Daryl to tense, thinking for a moment that she had seen him and was about to run, before he relaxed upon seeing that she was looking not at him, but at the animal that stood before her. The buck instantly stopped its loud drinking and whipped its head back up, edgy eyes staring unblinkingly at her as it prepared its body to make flight if suddenly attacked. The woman seemed to realise that she had given it something of a fright, and immediately stopped moving, staying stock still and making no sudden moves which could cause it to run. After a moment, the buck seemed to have some of its jumpiness alleviated by the apparent lack of ill-intent towards it, and the woman took this opportunity to slowly take a few steps forward and gently place her right hand upon its thick, soft coat, stroking it with affection as a kind smile spread across her face.

There was something about seeing a lone, pretty, perfectly normal woman who seemed as though she would live a long and happy life with a loving husband and many children, standing in a forest clearing and just petting nature's embodiment of beauty whilst the world outside of the gap decayed and died that switched something on in Daryl. He found himself make to step forward, abruptly prepared to greet this stranger, when one of the few gusts of wind offered to them in the summer suddenly brought itself to existence, beating him to the punch. His scent carried on the wind, and, instantly, the buck tensed, pushed its legs forward, and was gone in a blink. The woman stared after it just a second, shocked, before a look of horror dawned on her face and she abruptly sprinted to the gleam of metal he had seen earlier.

She turned in the direction the wind had blown from, raised her weapon, and twisted her face into a mask of anger and hatred towards a thing ready to murder her, Daryl doing the same, prepared to attack if it came to blows, when she stopped.

She saw him.

It took a long, utterly silent pause for her to stare unendingly at his face until she suddenly comprehended that she had just met another human being. Without thinking, she began to lower her weapon, giving a wary look to Daryl's crossbow as he brought it down slightly to point at the ground.

She opened her chapped, nude lips that had been bit tightly with fright, and croaked out, obviously not having talked in a long while, "Are you bit?"

Shaking his head, Daryl spoke quietly but firmly, "No." She looked relieved, her shoulders slumping as a wash of calm passed momentarily over them, before tensing again with the inevitability of threat she felt was always surrounding her. He gestured to her bandage, giving it another look over for any distinctive jaw shaped spots of bleeding that would indicate her being infected, but saw none as he asked her, "'re you?"

Adamant, she shook her head. An uncomfortable silence enveloped them then, and, after a pause, she moved back to her abandoned shirt by the river, which she had dropped along with the brush, and plucked it up from a rock that it had been swept up to. Seemingly realising the stupidity of putting on a now completely soaked shirt, she debated internally with herself for a moment before wringing it out as much as she could and tying it around her waist to dry.

She turned back to him as he followed her inwards to the slight enclosure surrounded by trees and bushes, and explained, pointing to her arm, "I tried climbing through a broken window. Cut my arm right down the length; lucky to have made it out alive, I'd say." She looked disturbed at admitting this aloud. Trying to think on something else, she asked him, eyes flickering interestedly to his crossbow and the small bunch of squirrels that remained tied to his belt, "Are you alone out here? What are you doing?"

He averted his eyes before his gaze flashed back up to her strong, steady face, choosing to not answer her first question for the moment, thinking it would be good if he ensured that she was mentally capable and sane before revealing to her that a whole camp of people he was supposed to be a part of where just a few miles up-stream, "Huntin'."

"Oh," she took his lack of answer to her first question in her stride, nodding faintly, and responded half-heartedly to his reply for her second one, "good idea."

She moved her head slightly, and that's when Daryl became abruptly aware of a thin scar carved lightly from the top of her right cheek up to just above her right brow, leaving a straight, minute bald patch in her eyebrow from where the line travelled. It was peculiar in that he hadn't noticed it before then – likely because, as it was relatively shallow and not disfiguring, it was only a change of light from her movement that illuminated her slight blemish; it looked relatively fresh, still healing up at the edges, probably a month or so old. Luckily for her vanity, if she still held such impractical values in high regard, it didn't detract from her prettiness any: at least in his eyes.

Curious for once, Daryl posed her own question to her, calm and neutral in his delivery, "What're you doin' out here?"

Pausing, she answered hesitantly, "Not sure." Upon seeing his surprised expression, she looked down, hands absently tugging at her vest, repeating so lowly that he barely heard her again, "Not sure." She waited a moment longer before a dawning look of thought passed over her face, and she reached into her front pocket to quickly withdraw a big slip of folded paper, walking tentatively towards him again, as he vigilantly watched her, and she requested, frank, "Can you point to where I am?" At this, she fully opened the large slip of paper to reveal a map of the West States, crinkled, scribbled on with various arrows, crosses, question marks, and, strangely, little printed names encircled here or there. It took him a moment to realise that the names were that of different Forts: military bases spread across the country.

Intrigued with her possession, Daryl gently took hold of it, flattening it out with his hands as he studied it closely, asking her loftily, impressed, "Where'd you find this?"

She reached inside her pocket again, this time pulling out a red marker pen, which she uncapped whilst she replied, frowning at the paper as he continued to analyse the many intricate lines meticulously planned out across it, "I found it." Uncertainty crossed her face for a moment, and her hand, holding the pen that was about to touch the paper paused, "Well-" At his raised eyebrow, she mumbled out softly, her brow creasing with worry, "Found it on a corpse."

Daryl gave her a silent, contemplative look. Finally, he asked, "Why'd you think that'd bother me?"

She looked unnerved, staring up at him, and she shrugged her shoulders uneasily, "Some people wouldn't take so kindly to looting like that. I didn't want to do it, 'course, but…" She trailed off.

He looked at her once more, then looked back down to the map, muttering quietly, "Ya gotta do what ya gotta do."

And that was that. Nothing more was said as she handed him the marker, and he circled the spot where she was, writing a little note of 'right here, the woods with the buck', handing both back to her. He saw her quickly add 'and the man' to his note, before re-capping the worn pen and tucking it away. The map remained in her hands, and she looked at it for a while, perturbed. Dimly, he heard her say, 'Atlanta?', then saw her look to the slowly darkening sky, and carefully tuck away the precious sheet that could well save her life.

Throwing back her shoulders, the woman walked over to her abandoned bag, falling heavily on her knees next to it, pulling it open and fumbling within it. Daryl remained, watching without a word, unconvinced as to what he should do with her – walking away was still fighting for its position for its place as his action, as well as giving her a few squirrels and being done with it. A smaller thought suggested to him that he tell her about the camp and let her join it, but he stopped that one before it got too far, unsure.

He was brought back to the present when her voice rang out to him, "I've not seen anyone in a while." He didn't say anything to this: there wasn't anything to say. Everyone had come to terms with the fact that everything was pretty much done now, with so many killed or turned over to the tides of the dead - civilisation and society had all but completely collapsed. She didn't need him to point it out. She already knew it. Still, she continued, soft, "You're the first person I've seen for-" she thought before ending it, her expression the one of someone who had come to an unhappy recognition, "weeks."

When he sustained his wordlessness, she distractedly turned back to her bag, finally extracting what she was looking for, and brought her other free hand round to the small first-aid kit she had on her waist, taking something out of there, too. Then, she stood, walked over to him, and gently pushed the things into his hands. Upon seeing his staggered expression, she explained kindly, "As I said, I've not seen anyone in a while. You helped me out a bit, there," she gestured to the objects in his hands, adding, all of a sudden meek, "a hand for a hand."

In his hands lay two cans of beans and pork bits, along with a small bottle of water and a half-used pack of clean bandages. Before any of this had happened, this offering would likely have been seen as meagre at best – but in the world of the apocalypse, money had no meaning. Guns, food and medicine were the only thing that mattered: and this small package of care could mean the difference between life and death. So, he was grateful. So grateful was he, that he suddenly spoke up, concerned all at once, "Where you gonna go?"

She frowned, sighing, then answered, "Just anywhere. No plan." He was disturbed by this, she could tell, so she hastily added, "Thanks for the concern, but I'll be fine – I don't go into the city; if I think I'm in danger, I sleep in a tree instead of my tent; I have a machete and food; water, map…" She grimaced. Then, "I'll be fine." She turned back to her bag.

Quietly, he spoke, his unusually level voice just audible over her echoing footsteps, "You're dead on your feet."

Tenseness fell back to drag on her posture. She stopped. Then turned. She gave him a look, and, unnerved with what she had heard, whispered, "What?"

Immediately, he answered, "'No plan'?" He shook his head, eyes darkening, "A plan keeps you alive. It's the only thing that can keep you going. If you don't have a plan, you're just wandering around aimlessly 'til you find yourself trapped in a corner, no way out, a mass of those things ready to devour you. Ya gotta have a plan to live. And you don't have one."

Eyes wide, she shakily replied, "Why're you saying that?" She shook her head, "Why would you even _say_ that?"

"You need to know." Then, in a quieter voice, he added, "I think you already do, though: you just don't wanna think about it."

Her fingers danced twitchily over her vest bottom, pulling lightly at the ends as a sort of comfort to herself as she stared at him, silent, face betraying all the fear she had been feeling for a long while. Finally, hoarse voice wavering, she said quietly, sounding as if she didn't believe a single word she was saying herself, "I'm going to be ok. I'm going to be just fine."

His eyes sharpened, and his voice raised a bit as he grew annoyed with her refusal to admit it to herself, "No, you won't!" Frowning heavily, she exhaled loudly at his words, and he continued, firm, "You've gotta wake up – you're just a girl, young, by yourself! You think everybody will help you find your way like I did, with that map, if you see anybody else at all?" He walked forward to her, and she didn't budge from where she was, "Some people will just shoot first, ask questions later: that bandage on your arm could be a bite, it'd be too dangerous for them to find out for sure – they'd shoot you in the head. No questions. No greetin'." He scowled at her, voice nearly menacing with the intensity of what he said, "Dead on sight."

All of a sudden, she became furious, although it was unclear whether her anger was directed at him or at herself, and she hissed, "What do you want me to do? What do you think I'm meant to do? What plan _could_ I have? I don't even know _where I am!_ " The last bit was nearly shouted, and she barely contained herself from yelling full on, hardly keeping hold of her common sense.

In an effort to let loose her rage without bringing danger upon herself, she abruptly brought her leg back and gave an almighty kick into the water surrounding them, repeating her action over and over for a minute, as frustrated tears began to fall from her eyes. She turned back to him, now soaked from head to toe, and forced out her trembling voice, "I – don't-"

Her voice caught in her throat, and, humiliated by her own immaturity at crying in front of a stranger, clenched her fists together, pushed them tightly to her eyes, and turned away from him, going to sit unsteadily down on a rock. Daryl looked on calmly, not at all stunned by her outburst – suddenly understanding that they are simply slowly approaching their death day by day would bring anyone to tears.

After a long, painful pause, she murmured, embarrassed with her behaviour, "Sorry," she wiped her cheeks with a forcibly strong hand, "very sorry about that. You're right." Sighing, she admitted, "I've just been wandering, and that'll end up killing me. I don't know what I'm even doing anymore," she exhaled shakily, "I'm trying to keep on surviving, that's all. I just don't want to die," she took a shuddering breath, "not like that."

Daryl had decided.

He walked over, slinging his crossbow over his back, and offered his hand to her. She took it, and he helped her up, looked her in the eye, and said, "Come with me."

Taken aback, she blew out a gulp of air, "You – what? You-"

"Come with me." He pointed back up behind him, in the approximate direction of the camp, "There's a camp, just a few miles back there; an hour away, maybe, not far." Her eyes met his, still stunned, "There's a whole group of people up there, and we stick together. There's a whole group of tents, an RV – there's even some kids runnin' about the place."

This grabbed her attention, "Kids?" Surprised, she exclaimed, "Really?" Upon seeing him nod, she laughed softly, barely believing him, and murmured, "Never thought I'd see another one."

She still hadn't let go of his hand. Daryl ignored it. He posed to her again, "So; what're you gonna do?"

Hesitating again, she pointed out, "I don't even know your name."

He shook his head, bemused, "What does that matter right now?"

"You're offering me an opportunity here which could save my life. I'm feeling kind of ashamed that I don't even know who you are."

He was silent for a moment before he answered her, "Daryl Dixon."

The sides of her mouth pulled up into a warm smile, and her cheeks, now rid of tears, were rounded with the action, "I'm Jean Hepburn," she added, "Jeanie. It's nice to meet you, Mr Dixon."

"Uh, just 'Daryl'."

She smiled at him again, "Alright, Daryl, then." There was a lingering rest in the conversation until she stood back slightly, withdrew the hand he still held, and, grinning, offered it immediately back to him in a handshake, which he took, grasping with a comfortable strength. At his questioning glance, she made a final enquiry, "These people with you – they're nice? Good?"

That stopped him for a moment, as he considered the various disagreements he had had with members of the camp, arguments that were endless, the animosity between he and the camp exacerbated further by his brother's dangerous lack of care. However, he nodded at her, and said, "Yeah." She looked hopeful at his confirmation, so he added, "Yeah, they're good to each other: they look out for everybody."

She was relieved, and, smile widening, responded, "It sounds great." Looking up at him, she finally nodded, answering his proposal, "I'll come with you, Daryl." Her smile faltered a bit with, as she abruptly realised the vast, beneficial repercussions this decision could cause for her – she was ecstatic at the prospect of meeting yet more people, after being completely isolated for so long. Overcome for a moment, her voice sweltered when she spoke, voicing her total gratitude, "Thank you."

Under her gaze, he fidgeted, uncomfortable with the sentiment for a moment, and muttered, "'s nothin'." She gave him a light rub of her hand against his, and he accepted the gesture. He paused before moving away from her, walking forward to go pick up her hiking bag, and she stopped him, taking it back from him as she assured him that she could carry it just fine. He settled down and let her take it back from him somewhat reluctantly, only after she let him take her two smaller bags from her. Once he was assured that they had everything with them, he gave a final look at the bush where his buck had disappeared not too long ago, and then at the nearly pitch-black sky, hardly feeling the wash of regret when he turned back to the nervously smiling girl at his side.

Taking out the readied crossbow once more, he walked forward to the place where he had entered, pushed the bush aside and gestured for her to follow him as they made their way back to camp.


	3. Chapter 3 - Civilisation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jeanie meets the rest of the camp - and it's not quite as easy as she had hoped it would be.

Chapter 3 – Civilisation

Swinging her battered tin bucket by her side, looking absentmindedly up at the slowly emerging stars, Amy leisurely padded along to middle of the camp.

For her, the day had passed as slowly as a week in the jail. Generally, the women in the camp were delegated to washing the collective, stinking mass of everybody's dirty clothes, stained by congealed, bile-like blood oozed by the undead that never quite left fabric the same way after soaking into it, with rough, perpetual sweat-stains etched into the material. It was a much dreaded task for the young blonde's defiant sister, who had been unsuccessfully trying to convince Shane to let her patrol the boundaries of their campsite for weeks now. Every time Andrea had to wash yet another pair of long-abused underpants or deplorably muddy socks, her face fell with the heaviness of expectation: people expected her to wash, so she had to wash, however much she wished otherwise.

Although she would never say it to her sister's face, Amy was glad that she had been consistently denied any part in the gruesome action that was a necessary factor of survival in the frightening new world they lived in. Every time the men left, loaded guns at hand, grim frowns etched into their faces, she could tell that they were mentally preparing themselves for the worst possible consequence of their decision to leave the safe haven of the camp, even if only momentarily – they didn't fear death so much as they were terrified of becoming one of the creatures that were both death and life, mixed together in a horrible, grotesque fusion.

Early on into the start of the disaster they were all surviving day-by-day, Amy was incapable to cope with the horror of what she saw: young and innocent - by nature, dangerously unsuited to the life of death and terror that was being forced onto her. She couldn't handle the hell that the world was quickly decaying into, with society decomposing at an accelerated rate she found herself very much unable to cope with.

There was a reason why Amy never complained about the domestic workload delegated to her: if she was left to her own thoughts, without her sister near, she would always find the haunting images of her lurking nightmares flashing up before her suddenly blurring vision. Jim, walking before her as he carried a load of firewood to the camp, would abruptly start to shuffle, his gaping, bloody maw turned towards her as he let forth a horrific moan of un-life. Lori, gathering up a stray bit of washing next to her as she talked to her son, would turn, smile, and open her septic mouth to gouge her cracked, tainted teeth deeply into his neck.

Amy frowned, clutching the bucket in her hands tightly.

The disturbing images of her sister were the ones that shook her the most. One moment, she was there, at her side; the next, she was down, eyes glazed as she was feasted upon by a mass of ravenous monsters. After a while, her gaze would flash once more, but now with a dull white blankness, she would push aside the creatures and stand, head hanging on by nothing but a mere thread as it swayed lifelessly from side to side, one of her arms ripped off at the dead, stringy muscle that flopped uselessly from the endless gashes in her waxy, cadaverous flesh, in the insatiable jaws of another, congealing blood dribbling terribly, like a perpetual, blackening river, falling into a stinking pool at her mauled, exposed feet, her animalistic, rising groan ringing round and round and round in Amy's ears, not stopping for a moment, ringing and ringing as she approached, closer and closer and closer so close close _close_ – and then, suddenly, with a wave of a hand, Amy was back, her sister's concerned face before her own, asking her if she was alright.

She always said she was fine.

Despite the awful terror that her mind forced upon her, Amy kept her spirits up, pushing past the trauma of the early days of the infection, when crowds of people were crushed together in panic and immediately savaged before their eyes. With Andrea close to her at all times, and a warm bed at night, things got better with time. Although she still had nightmares, she was able to handle them better, looking over to her gently sleeping sister beside her, a tight, protective arm wound round her side, a loaded gun at her arm for easy reach, and finding comfort in the assurance that she yet lived. Her chaotic mind, disturbed from its innocence at the start of the apocalypse, began to settle into content again, and her happiness returned. She smiled once more, gaze softening again once she saw the children run around her, asking for her attention, or when Glenn cheerfully handed her a treat from a candy store he had passed in his solo sojourn, or when the group gathered around the fire at night, close and caring for one another.

At that moment, she was shook from her thoughts when Morales' young daughter tripped over near her, bashing her knee in her clumsiness. Startled, Amy set her bucket on the ground and helped the girl up, asking her if she was alright as she checked her leg, looking for any blood or open wounds. Once she was assured as to the child's wellbeing, she gave her a friendly grin, asked her to be more careful, to which the girl meekly replied that she would, picked her bucket up and continued on, happily whistling an out-of-tune song under her breath.

Soon, she arrived at the centre, where T-Dog was lighting the fire on branches and chopped wood that Jim and Glenn had collected together the day before after finding the gas station both Shane and Glenn were currently at to collect fuel, blowing softly on the sparks he created to bring a blaze for the dinner that night. Lori sat next to him with Carol, both peeling the last potatoes they had found in a wild patch of vegetables a fortnight before, conversing quietly as they worked.

As she passed him, she could hear him talking with his girlfriend, Jacqui, describing an old car he had when he was a young teenager, "…Stone cold beautiful, thing was – couldn't run for shit at first, but I got that thing workin'. Get this: it was hot pink at the start! I had to paint it bright green with an old bucket of slop in my dad's garage to make sure my ass wasn't beat up 'n down the street." He sighed, a thick air of nostalgia coating his words, "I miss that damn car." To which Jacqui laughed affectionately, while she finished sewing a hole in one of her shirts, every so often adding in her own witty comment.

Upon seeing the approaching Amy, the other two women smiled up at her, especially pleased to see the chirpy girl carrying what looked like a reasonably filled bucket with her. Deftly finishing up her peeling with a final swoop of her knife, Lori swiftly dumped the excess skin into a little container they used to store the excess of vegetables, to be used as fertiliser on the vegetable patch they had found in an attempt to grow more produce before winter came upon them. As she began to chop up the spud, hands moving with the practised ease of a mother who cooked at home, Lori greeted her, "Hey there, Amy."

Returning their smiles brightly, wiping a stray bit of dirt off of her arm, Amy responded, nodding at both of them in turn, "Hi, Lori, Carol." She brought the bucket before them, sitting next to them on an upturned tree trunk, and they peered inside as she handed them her gatherings of the day, saying, "Got you some here," she poked at one of the mushrooms at the top of the pile, "found a little patch of them around this one, big tree just down from where we usually go." She passed the handle over to them, and they accepted. Amy spoke again, admitting, "I'm not exactly sure if they're alright, though. How do you tell?"

Picking up one of the mushrooms, Lori brought it before her eyes, giving it an unconvinced once-over before answering, carefully placing it back in the dirtied bucket, "There's only one sure-fire way that I know of."

Amy laughed a little, "Asking Shane?"

Nodding, Lori smiled, "Asking Shane." The two other women laughed appreciatively as Lori finished slicing her last potato and threw it into the heating pot of water over the now slowly burning fire-pit. However, when a minute, barely detectable sound emanated from within Carol's tent, she flinched, abruptly halting in her laughs, and stared wide-eyed at the closed tent-flaps.

Upon noticing that she had stopped, Lori and Amy slowly trundled to a mutual stop, followed her gaze, realised the source of her fright, and immediately quietened. Exchanging a brief look of unwilling understanding, they looked on with pity as Carol began to subconsciously tug at her long-sleeved, conservatively drab blouse, twitching over hidden bruises the two knew existed. Across from them, T-Dog stood, having finished bringing the fire up, and he walked away with Jacqui to the other side of camp, happily conversing over their past lives – probably going to go pick up some bundles of washing Andrea was begrudgingly finishing up whilst Carol and Lori cooked.

In an effort to draw Carol's attention away from the less than blissful thoughts she was obviously pouring over, Lori, far quieter than before, remarked, "Here's hoping Daryl gets back soon." Carol turned halfway, keeping one eye on the source of her misery, softly muttering an absent 'Oh' in an attempt to pretend that she was still involved in the conversation, rather than absorbed in miserable contemplations.

Forcing herself to speak lowly, Amy feigned interest on her behalf, "Why's that?" Grinning, she joked, gently nudging Carol, who barely reacted to the contact, "Missing the guy already?"

Rolling her eyes, Lori replied, sarcasm practically dripping from her quiet words, "Definitely." Amy smiled in amusement as she explained, frank, "I'm just eager to get dinner started with some of his 'chicken'," she brought her free hand up to gesture her scepticism, "is all."

Raising an eyebrow, Amy inquired as Carol hesitantly turned her back on her makeshift house, "I thought he said he was going to nab us some venison."

Shrugging sceptically, Lori pushed her sleeves further up her arms as she replied, "Up 'til now, squirrel's all he's been able to get. Not sure I believe his constant assurance that, 'Ah almost gawt that sumbitch dee-ur.'"

This time, their laughs were tinged with a bit of guilt. After a moment, Amy commented, mildly defensive in Daryl's stead, "Well, you know, at least he gets us some food, right?"

Frowning slightly, Lori admitted, sighing, "He's better than his brother," quickly, she glanced over at the muddy, weathered tent occupied by the Dixon brothers where Merle fell into, stoned into near blindness, the night before – and every night, virtually, "that's for sure. That man's nothin' but a total thug." Even quieter, she added, almost as an afterthought to herself, as the others joined her gaze to the tent, "He enjoys all of this." They didn't need to ask what she meant by this small comment: it was uncomfortably obvious to anyone observing the man that, whilst he faced off the creatures constantly chasing them, his grin and eyes sharpened strangely with excitement. It wasn't just adrenaline flowing freely through his drug-addled veins when he saw a 'geek' on the horizon – it was something else, something far more disturbing: sheer animalistic delight.

Pleasure.

A heavy and tense silence fell over them. Amy smiled, turned, and changed the subject, "So; Carol-"

"- _Carol._ "

The woman in question twitched at the aggressive, ominous yell that came from behind her. She masked it well with her years of practice, as her effeminate shoulders hunched instinctively as a form of shield, a palpable knee-jerk reaction that she pulled back when she felt herself doing it.

The call came again, far louder, causing a few other heads to turn in camp, " _Carol!_ "

Quickly, she dumped the half-chopped vegetables in the pot, immediately turning to the isolated tent on the edges of the campsite, opening it and closing it behind her when she crawled inside, sparing a swift, wordless apology to them with a sad flicker of her mouth.

Low mutterings floated through the dense summer air, punctuated by angry grunts and the occasional, threat-laced command, "You better not be helping those fuckin' scroungers, again." Following this, Carol's attempts at sedating her husband's anger failed, with Ed's voice rising steadily until his disconcerting bellow of, " _Watch your goddamned mouth, or I'll close it!_ ", brought down an absolute vacuum of soundlessness within. Wavering, the people who had grimly witnessed the unsettling occurrence paused. Then, they turned their heads away, eyes shifting firmly in the other direction as they tried to ignore what had transpired.

Mouth stretched into a horrified grimace, Amy glanced at Lori, who sat at her side, hands frozen in picking up a can of sweetcorn as she remained stiff and taut-muscled, staring after the tent. After what seemed a very, very long time to the young blonde, Lori turned to her, voice low as she offered, "Amy, if you want to, you can go do something else." Amy gave her a startled glance, still absorbed in her thoughts, and she continued, "I'll make dinner, you can go find your sister; she's gonna be back from the gorge soon."

Pausing, Amy sat there, eyes alternating between the dread inspiring sight of the utterly silent tent, and Lori's melancholic face. Following the lapse in conversation, Amy wasn't at all hesitant when she immediately answered, "I'll help you, Lori. I won't leave you by yourself." Lori's anticipatory stare shifted into a lightly surprised one, before eventually settling on a quietly grateful one. Flashing a small, forced grin, Amy received back a reassuring smile, equally tried. A plan set, they both fell back into routine, minds focussing on their task at hand, and they softly conversed, stopping themselves from impulsively bursting into Carol's private life.

For a long time, they sat there. Amy couldn't say how long, exactly: the only person who kept time anymore was Dale, with his cute little pocket-watch that she saw him wind every morning without fail, and she was too absorbed in her job and with talking intermittently with Lori to be bothered getting up and walking over to the RV. Daryl also seemed to keep time alright, if only so that he could keep an eye on when he had to get back to camp, but, otherwise, the group basically operated on a system of light-equals-day-equals-work and dark-equals-night-equals-sleep. Hence, she couldn't estimate the length of time she had been sitting there, preparing dinner like a camping 50s housewife, when she heard a dampened rustle from the bushes on the edges of campsite.

She barely registered Dale's yell of warning that rippled through the camp, causing a ruckus of activity, so fixated was she on grabbing Lori, who hadn't heard the sound and was alarmed at the sudden danger. Just as Lori screamed for Carl, who was standing before them, frying pan raised defensively in his hands, to run to the RV with Sophia, and she and Amy started to sprint with all of their might to the vehicle, a shout came from the bushes, and she stopped upon hearing it, Lori, who held her hand, halting as she faltered in yelling for Carol to flee, "Hey, calm down, it's me!"

Fully turning around, ignoring Lori's panicked attempts to get her moving, Amy slumped her shoulders with relief. Andrea pounded round the corner of the RV, stray bits of clothing from her pile of washing falling from her arms as she frantically yanked her pistol from her jeans pocket, T-Dog at her side, armed and shouting furiously for everybody to grab a weapon and get up to the RV. Desperate and terrified for her sister, Andrea roared, eyes wide, pistol finally free and loaded in her hands, as she pointed it at the back of Amy, " _Amy, get over here! NOW!"_

"Andrea, it's fine, I'm fine!" Andrea protested, cursing loudly as she continued to sprint over, leaving T-Dog and Jacqui behind her near the RV as she went ahead, grabbing her sister and Lori and trying to move them both, virtually getting into a fist fight with Amy when she firmly refused to budge, trying to shout over her adrenaline-fueled yells. Finally looking to where Amy's gaze lay focussed, Lori looked shocked before she managed to calm herself, giving Amy's shoulder a squeeze as it was shaken by her sister, before she shouted reassurances to Carol, who had her begun to crawl out of her tent, despite the backwards pull of her husband, face frozen with fear as she screeched for Sophia. Then, she ran over to soothe Carl, who stood, holding a terrified Sophia close to him at the entrance to the RV, yelling for his mother and Carol to follow.

Stopping the approaching couple who raised their guns, ready to push her to safety, Amy raised her arms, flailing them wildly as she shouted up at Dale, who pointed his hunting rifle at the bushes, "It's just Daryl!"

There was a pause of wary disbelief for a few seconds before everybody seemed to collectively sigh with relief, put away their weapons, and get back to whatever it was they were occupying themselves with, fidgeting with bundled nerves and glancing over their shoulders to face paranoia. Dale shouted to Andrea, worriedly asking her is she and Amy were okay, to which she answered that they were, pocketed her pistol with hands shaking with a sudden heaped burst of adrenaline, hugging Amy tightly as she exhaled heavily. Patting her sister's back in comfort, Amy listened as Andrea told her, staid and unwavering, "Stay away from the edge," she kissed Amy's cheek as Amy brought her hands up to the comforting golden mass of her sister's hair, fingers playing with the strands as she vowed, firm, "I'm gonna get you a gun."

Continuing murmuring to her sister, Andrea faced where Daryl entered, pushing aside bushes with his crossbow. Throwing him a hard glare, Andrea frowned darkly, receiving a scowl of her own, equal in intensity. Ignoring the annoyed glances he was tossed when he walked forward, Daryl declared to no-one in particular, slowly putting his crossbow away and gesturing behind him, "I found someone."

Raising an eyebrow, Andrea pulled back slightly from her equally confused sister, who turned to face him along with T-Dog, who, frowning heavily as Jacqui walked over to him, still fiddling with her own pistol, asked, "What are you-?"

Abruptly, a girl walked out from the bushes, quietly brushing the outlaying branches aside as she stuck her head before her, warily scouting out.

They all stared at her, silent with surprise. Everybody gave her a quick visual study, surveying her. Upon noticing the thick gauze winding up the length of the arm, they all frowned slightly with doubt. After a few moments, realising that the rest of the group were reluctant to say anything, Daryl looked back to her, giving her a calm glance, and explained to the rest, "Found her couple miles down the road, by herself." No one said anything, so he continued, "Told her she could come up here."

The girl paused before she came forward to stand next to him, gazing with no small measure of relief at the campsite, likely grateful that the place was actually there, rather than some imagined place from a stranger she had just met. She stayed silent for a while, as everyone gazed at her with a bit of reserved uncertainty, until, finally, she lifted her unbandaged arm up faintly, waving it softly as her croaky voice reached across to them, "Hi, everyone." Her greeting, tinged with guarded hopefulness, broke some of the hesitant tension, and a few people muttered replies to her, certain mannerisms from years spent in civilised society having been retained.

From all over the camp, everyone began to gather, staring curiously at the first new person they had seen in a long while, Dale climbing down from his position on watch at the top of the RV, joining them on the ground as he hooked his hunting rifle onto his back with its worn leather strap. She looked somewhat excited at seeing the large amount of people that were part of the group, not expecting quite so many, despite what Daryl had told her. Once everybody had settled a bit more, staying still where they were before her, she introduced herself, "My name's Jeanie," she flashed an awkward grin, a hint of desperation she likely didn't know she was faintly exuding entering her eyes, "I'm real pleased to see you all." She fidgeted, uneasily waiting for a verbal recognition, receiving a couple of indistinct murmurs before she finished, "Nice to meet you."

At that point, she paused, before she started to move forward, looking ready to shake hands with a few people in greeting, most accepting, coming forward and introducing themselves – Dale, giving her a reassuring grin as he walked towards her with Amy and a dutiful Andrea, Morales and his wife, with their children, T-Dog and Jacqui and so on. It was when she came to Lori that she hesitated, seeing the plain doubt on the woman's face. Then, she slowly pulled her hand back, duly took the other woman's wary stare, and backed off.

Clearing her throat, she walked back over to Daryl's side, where he remained at the side of the fire, simply watching as she walked around and made herself known. She then addressed the elephant in the room, fingers fiddling against each other as a force of habit, "So; Daryl said I could stay here, at least for a little while?" It came as a question rather than a statement, and the air of uncertainty that pervaded her speech was clear to the people before her, some of whom tensed when she finished speaking.

Dale, ignoring the few who were silently reluctant towards her proposal of staying, spoke up, smiling, "Of course you can, dear: we'd welcome you."

Relief sweeping across her face, Jeanie beamed, her eyes shining. She opened her mouth, obviously about to thank him when she was interrupted by Lori, who, eyes sharp as they fixed upon the younger girl, stepped forward, "Hold on now, just a minute." Everybody went silent again, looking at her and bracing themselves upon seeing her grim expression. Lori's gaze studied Jeanie, carefully and meticulously. Only after a minute or so did she continue, turning to Daryl, who was warily eying her, her voice low as she said something she clearly knew was not going to garner her any favour, "Are we sure that's a good idea?"

There was a long pause after she spoke. Slowly, murmurs began to crawl around in the background, uneasy whispers slithering from the lurking fear of the group to the forefront of the discussion. Jeanie visibly deflated, her eyes losing a bit of their hopeful glint as she watched, hands twitching nervously over each other. Daryl walked forward slightly, giving Lori a unabashedly contemptuous scowl, eyes harshly boring into her own.

Dale, forever the conscience of the group, shot Lori a cautious look, clearly surprised with her behaviour when he asked, "What are you saying?" Saying nothing, Lori turned slightly from the intensely glaring Daryl to Dale's worried face, before ultimately settling on Carl, still near the entrance to the RV, Sophia's hand tightly clenched in his own. Seeing that she wasn't quite prepared to answer, Dale prompted her, "You're not suggesting we not let her join our camp?" He shook his head, disbelieving, "She's just a kid, Lori."

Finally, she answered, eyes hardening as she looked to her son, meeting his curious gaze, "I know." She paused, "I know that, that's the point." Facing back to Dale, she met his confused expression and explained, "She _is_ just a kid. Look; we all know what's out there, alright?" Her voice lowered further, volume dropping in an effort to shield her son, "Nothing good is out there. Who knows what she's seen, what she's had to do just to survive?" She sighed heavily. Everyone continued to wordlessly watch her as she carried on, "I guess what I'm saying is: it's hard enough for us to keep calm and sane up here together, warm, with food and shelter." She gestured weightily to Jeanie, "What chance has she to be normal?"

The air was thick with tense, unspoken words. Then Daryl finally spoke, shaking his head derisively as he responded, "She's damn well more normal than you." Jeanie looked round at him, shocked at his declaration, more than a little relieved at his stout defence. He continued, ignoring Lori's unconvinced glare, addressing the group, "Listen, I don't care about what happens with the camp," he shrugged, "I ain't gonna give a shit. You people are crazy sometimes, damn crazy. But she," he gestured to Jeanie, who continued to stare at him, surprised, "she's normal if I ever saw it." He paused, leaning back on his legs, one of his hands reaching to hook onto a loop on his belt as he spoke, "You need more people like her to keep going – that China-boy's not gonna keep you going forever by going out to the city by himself. She's survived this long to get to this point – she's obviously good at staying alive. If she had to do some things along the way to keep herself from getting killed, a young girl by herself," he trailed off, glanced slowly back to Jeanie, his voice dropping lowly, "You gotta do what you gotta do."

Lori frowned, "'You gotta do what you gotta do'…That's fine. Sure." She shook her head, voice dropping, "But what about killing?" Daryl didn't answer her immediately, so she continued on, trying to ignore the look of wearied acceptance on the young girl's face as she was deciding her future, "No killing: that's the rule. We can't know for certain if she's a murderer."

"I'm not." Surprised at her sudden entrance into the conversation, everybody turned to look at Jeanie, who gave them a drained grimace. She spoke up again, her voice louder and no less definite, "I'm not a murderer. I've never killed anyone." Pausing, she looked down, quiet, "I could've if I wanted, but I didn't."

Lori looked at her, surprised. After a long hesitation, she asked, eyes flickering worriedly back to her edgy son, "What do you mean?"

"I mean what I said. I could've. I didn't."

Another deeply uncomfortable silence followed. Then, Daryl remarked, "Well, that's that, then." He threw Lori another look of contempt, "She's no killer. That's a big achievement 'out there', right?"

"Wait."

Daryl's temper flared, and his voice began to rise as his frustration grew, "What the hell is it that's up your ass, now?"

Lori pointed to Jeanie's gauze-covered arm, and Jeanie uneasily brought a hand up to fiddle with the frayed edge of the material as the older woman asked, "That bandage; is it a bite?"

"No."

"How do you know? You checked?"

Daryl stopped, eying Lori, before answering, "I can tell."

"How can you do that?"

"She doesn't look sick, does she?" Growing steadily more irritated with his imposed interrogation, Daryl continued, "She's not coughin' up blood or about to faint. And her wound," he pointed to it, "it's not bleeding any more than a normal injury would – if she had been bit, that bandage'd be soaked with her blood right now, infected with pus."

Lori sighed, "Stop with the BS – did you check or did you not check?"

"Look, she said she wasn't bit, so she wasn't bit."

"How do y-"

"-Was she a killer?"

Lori paused. After a moment, she answered, "No. But this is a whole lot different."

"I don't think it is."

"It is. She might not be a killer, but do you think she'd admit to us, her best hope for survival, that she's been infected and is going to endanger our lives?"

Fairly bellowing now, Daryl shouted, "She's not been fuckin' bit, alright?" Swiftly, he turned to Jeanie, dumping one of her bags on the ground as he moved over to her, away from the aggravated Lori. Quieter, he said to her, meeting her exhausted gaze, "I'm gonna look under the bandage, ok?"

Nodding faintly, Jeanie replied, low as he, "Go ahead."

Giving a final pointed scowl to Lori, who simply folded her arms and carried on staring at the offending wound, Daryl took hold of Jeanie's arm, surprisingly gentle. Softly, trying to avoid aggravating the healing tissue underneath, he slowly pulled away the gauze from her skin. Jeanie kept a neutral, slightly grim face throughout, likely feeling a small stab of pain from the nearly mortal lesion she had endured. Upon fully peeling the bottom layer of the bandage, slightly sticky with leaking blood, Daryl closely studied the injury.

He frowned at the length of the laceration – Jeanie had been right to say she had almost been put to rest by it: the wound, slightly jagged at the edges where the broken window split off, was a clean cut that had very nearly sliced one of her arteries clean in half – as it was, it had gotten through about a third of her skin, nicking her muscle. Thin, intersecting lines pulled together the wound until about halfway down, when it was clear that Jeanie's desperate attempt to apply stitching to her gash was terminated by her finite supply of surgical thread – however, Daryl was certain that her effort had saved her life, halting the rush of blood enough so that she could somewhat stem it and dress her wound.

Abruptly, Daryl realised with a grimace that the pain Jeanie had suffered was certain to have been excruciating: with the clear state of devastation done on her arm, he was impressed that she had even managed to stay conscious long enough to even attempt to cover it. Looking up to her still composed face, Daryl found himself beholding in her in something of a new, appreciative light - anyone who was strong-willed enough to pull themself through such a near-lethal disaster was worth respect in his book.

Carefully replacing the bandage, lightly wrapping it back around her arm, Daryl tied the end securely and tugged it to ensure its tautness, gently swiping away a thin line of blood that had trailed down her to her wrist. Only when he gave Jeanie a final, approving glance did he turn back to the group, informing them, "She's not bit."

All of the group gathered before him sighed with relief. Lori, remaining wordless for a minute before eventually responding, said, "Ok. Fine, then; but I think we should wait until Shane gets back before we make any permanent decisions on you staying." She directed the last part of her statement to Jeanie, who looked mildly shocked that the woman had finally acknowledged her.

Daryl scoffed, prompting Jeanie to ask, eyebrow raised in confusion at his reaction to the man's name, "Who's Shane?" He scowled again, and she continued, directing her inquiry at the general mass of people before her, shyer with her delivery, "Is he the leader of the camp?"

"He may as well be." Lori answered, wiping her glazed brow, softly fanning herself with her hand.

"He likes to think he is," Daryl contradicted her, swiftly unhooking the line of squirrels attached to his belt and trying to hand them to over to her, before she gave him a questioning look and didn't take them. He ignored her momentarily, finishing his impromptu description of Shane's character and perceived position in their small community, "Really, though, he's just some prick ex-cop."

Jeanie pushed a strand of hair away from her face, stretching her legs as she replied with a neutral but accepting, "Oh."

Brushing off the insult Daryl had uttered, Lori finally took hold of the rope tied with squirrels. Upon her acceptance of his catch, Daryl bent down, easily picking up Jeanie's extra bags, heaving his own small rucksack further up his shoulder. Bemused, Lori held the grimy line aloft, firmly away from herself, grimacing at the stench as she asked, "You not gonna skin them, first?"

Not bothering to face her as he spoke, Daryl grunted a reply, cricking his neck, "Gotta redress her wound. All that moving agitated it." Lori had the slight grace to look somewhat guilty at that, eyes flickering to the bandage, where there was indeed a larger spot of blood than there had been before.

Faintly flashing a quick look of apology for her injury, Lori stiffly nodded to Jeanie, before walking away, as Daryl, with a jerk of his head, prompted Jeanie to follow him in the opposite direction.

Awkwardly, the crowd began to disperse, craning their heads round to sneak a last glimpse at the newcomer, still startled by the novelty of meeting someone different. Jeanie kept her head down, sticking close to Daryl as he silently led her across the campsite. She trained her eyes ahead, mostly, taking in her surroundings, unconsciously evaluating all potential escape routes, a recently reborn instinct that had come in handy in all the time she had been alone, out scavenging – only a few times did she meet anybody's gaze, otherwise keeping herself to herself.

At one point, she dared a glance across the camp to where she had entered, still analysing the layout, causing a few faces to immediately turn away in embarrassment, and caught the eye of an able-looking boy sitting outside the entrance of the battered Winnebago that formed the town hall of their small settlement, hand in hand with a nervous looking girl. Hesitating, she gave him a grin, and received a small, unsure smile in return, which slowly fell into a dim frown upon turning his gaze over to the fire at the centre at the camp, where Lori sat, somewhat clumsily skinning the numerous squirrels she had been handed, getting talked at excitedly by a young blonde who kept glancing up at Jeanie.

Jeanie gathered that the boy was Lori's son from the way that, upon noticing that the boy was worriedly glancing at her, Lori looked round at her, fixing her under a warning stare that spoke volumes in caution. Backing off, Jeanie turned back around, ignoring the feeling of being watched as she and Daryl reached a pair of relatively isolated tents on the outer rim of the camp, a couple of upturned logs settled firmly on the ground to serve as seating.

When Daryl stopped, once again placing the bags he held onto the ground, Jeanie followed suit, pulling her heavy camping bag from her shoulders, dumping it onto the well-disturbed dirt. He glanced at her, quickly muttering that she could sit, and she did so, as he walked over to one of the tents, opened it, and went rifling inside it. Listening to him fumble around, Jeanie tried to unknot her shoulders, slowly throwing them back in a stretch, careful to not bother her wound any more than it had already been.

After a few minutes of searching, Daryl came out again, carefully zipping the tent up before he walked back over to her. In his hands, there lay a clean towel and a partially empty bottle of whisky: a generic brand of American make that she guessed he had come across whilst out hunting – otherwise, he was a very dedicated drunk, to have brought it with him when escaping from the apocalypse. Looking up at him as he walked back over to her, she picked up her first-aid bag, beginning to rummage through it. However, he stopped her from taking out anything from it, instead pulling out the pack of bandages she had given him from one of his many pockets, gruffly stating, "'ll take care of it."

Deciding to leave it at that, Jeanie complied, softly dropping the priceless bag and pushing it away slightly with her foot, extending her legs. Daryl sat down next to her, setting the bottle on the ground as he nicked open a roll of gauze with his hunting knife. Handing her the bottle, he untied and began to unravel the bandage already on her arm, slowly peeling it away from her agitated skin. She took a long gulp of the scorching drink, smacking her lips with the strength of it, forcibly stopping herself from coughing as it hit her throat like a blast from a shotgun.

Once the wound was open to the sweltering summer air, Daryl gently took the bottle back, pouring a generous amount over the faintly aching lesion, causing her to jump slightly at the sting, as it disinfected the deep gash. Carefully wiping at her sore with the rough towel, he didn't bother to take a swig himself as he placed it back on the ground next to where he sat.

Jeanie, feeling a vague wash of calm cancel out the abrupt twinge of pain that was bothering her, suddenly decided that conversation would be preferable over silence. Watching him as he started to loosen the clean set of gauze, settling it comfortably over her newly sterilised arm, she asked, trying to think of things to fill the silence despite it being relatively comfortable, "So, did you have to clean a couple of wounds with that, before?"

Continuing his steady pace of wrapping the bandage, Daryl answered, "No."

"It's been used. You drank some?"

Daryl finishing the looping of the bandage, pulling it tightly and grabbing the end with his teeth, ripping it in two and tying the partly conjoined strips together in a knot after twisting them off in opposite directions. Replacing the now mostly depleted pack of gauze in his pocket, he answered, "My brother did." Quietly, he added, "Drank a lot of other bottles, too."

Furrowing her eyebrows, Jeanie softly blew out a puff of air, quiet and soft, choosing not to comment on the faint bitterness in his voice, "Oh." Pausing, she let her eyes fall to the ground as they both turned away from each other, facing the fire pit indented into the singed dirt before them. Eventually, she spoke, her voice low, "That was tense back there, huh?" Daryl looked at her, silent, as she continued, "It was so strange, meeting all those new people, it's – weird, now, seeing others. I'm so used to being alone out there." Hesitating, she brought her legs back together, pulling them closer to her and resting her hands on her lap, "I used to be quite good with people, too. Couldn't half talk someone's ear off." She smiled softly at the memory.

Glancing at her lowered eyes, Daryl shrugged, "Past is past." He leaned back on the log, "Most people are a lot different now than they were before. This kind of thing does that to people."

Jeanie looked at him, mouth turned down slightly as she nodded, "Yeah." Then, she looked over at the main section of the camp site, where the majority of the inhabitants of their settlement were beginning to settle, going back to their busywork. Quietly, she admitted, "I'm not surprised that woman - Lori, I think - didn't want me here." Daryl scowled, "She has a kid, right," she looked across to the RV, jutting her head slightly in its direction when she spotted the person she was looking for, "that boy?"

He didn't bother to look, "Yeah." Pausing, he lifted his crossbow by its leather strap, setting it before him and unconsciously tapping it with his calloused forefinger, "Carl."

She slowly turned away from the boy, back to the ground before her. Then, she carried on, "I get it." He looked at her, questioning, "I was too late getting here, that's all."

"What d'ya mean?"

She shrugged stiffly, "If I'd arrived here early on, I think I'd've been okay with her. But, she's settled, now: trying to start a new life for her son. She wants stability." Softly, she added, "I'm just instability personified."

Scoffing lightly in contempt, he replied, "She can shut up and deal with it; this whole life's instability."

Turning to him, she replied, wearied, "I'm different, though. I'm gonna be like this constant, living reminder of 'out there' that'll, quite suddenly, just be in her life, round her son." She turned away, "She doesn't like me."

"Who gives a shit if she likes you?"

Looking at him from the corner of her eye, she admitted, a bit guilty at her wider goal, "She's one of the first people I've seen in a while. I wanna make a good impression, so I have no trouble here."

Scowling deeply, Daryl spat to the side, turning away, "Fuck her." She looked on, calm, as he continued, "You're gonna stay if you wanna stay. It's not up to her - she can go to hell."

Laughing quietly, Jeanie replied, unconvinced, "Yeah. She can go to hell."

Distractedly, he took out his hunting knife, looking at it as it caught the light of some of the flames of the main campsite fire, gleaming.

She turned away, looking up to the dark sky, a light breeze sending strands of hair flying onto her face, entangling themselves round her features. They sat in silence for a while, both staring upwards at the stars that were beginning to emerge, before Jeanie spoke again, a shine of astonishment in her voice, "I guess all there is to do now is to make a new life for myself." Daryl didn't feel the need to reply to her obviously rhetorical question, allowing her free reign to continue as she wished. Suddenly, however, she coughed, a coarse, sore sounding forceful gasp of air, bringing her hand up to cover her mouth, going on for a minute.

Letting her go on for a few moments, waiting to see if she stopped, Daryl frowned and asked, shifting in his seat, "You alright?"

Once her fit had ended, she answered in a raw croak, blinking away tears pooling at the corners of her tired eyes from the force of her coughs, "My throat hurts."

"You sick?"

"No."

"You sure?"

"Yeah."

Throwing her a sceptical look, Daryl spoke, "Sounds like your voice is crapping out after you talking so much. Stop talking."

Smiling, she replied, much to his disapproval, "I want to, though," she rubbed her throat absently, then dropped her hands to her sides, leaning back like the man seated next to her, "I've not talked in-" her eyes closed, her volume dropping as she thought, "a very long time." She smiled, gentle and warm, eyes turning to him as she spoke, "Thank you, Daryl." He watched her, shifting forward to lean his elbows on his knees, silent, "You've changed everything for me."

Taking a moment to reply, Daryl muttered, unconvinced, scoffing, "Just brought you up here."

She shook her head, gaze sure, "You were right, though: a lot of people would have just shot me on sight in case I was infected, or a threat to them otherwise. You didn't. You helped me. So; thank you."

Shaking his head, Daryl replied, "You gotta be cautious of people."

Opening her mouth to answer, shifting closer in her seat, Jeanie halted upon noticing a woman, middle-aged and dressed in drab clothing approaching. Brought out from the conversation she was absorbed in with Daryl, Jeanie noticed that night had finally come upon them, and that the sky had turned pitch-black whilst they talked. Daryl seemed to notice the change too, looking up and frowning before looking to the woman, who came to a stop before them, glancing behind her as she spoke, "Sorry to interrupt," she glanced at Jeanie for a moment, her voice soft, "Dinner's ready." She handed over a small pile of clothes over to Daryl, and he accepted them, setting them on his lap haphazardly as the woman fixed the small pile of garments in her hand.

Jeanie shook her head, coughing before she spoke, her voice still uncomfortably gravelly, "No, it's fine, you didn't interrupt anything." The woman nodded, saying nothing, so Jeanie continued, absentmindedly gazing up at the lady's shaded eyes that seemed to not quite connect to her own, "Well, uh, I'm Jeanie."

Nodding again, the woman replied, quiet, "I know, I was just in my tent when I heard you talking." Daryl, sitting beside Jeanie, stayed silent, watching the exchange between the two women, hands still fiddling with the knife.

"Oh." Jeanie paused awkwardly, sensing that the woman wasn't going to respond any further unless she said something, "Oh, well, it's good to meet you." She paused and then held out her out her hand, before looking down at the nearly overflowing pile of washing in the woman's hands, detracting her limb and offering, "Do you need any help?"

Affording Jeanie a small smile, the woman shook her head, "No, it's ok, thank you." She stopped, taking a quick glance behind herself, before turning back to Jeanie and introducing herself, "My name's Carol. It's nice to meet you, too." Her small smile softened a bit more, "You seem a nice girl."

Returning Carol's smile, Jeanie flushed a bit, "Ah, thanks." She tucked a stray hair away behind her sun-kissed ear, "That's nice of you to say."

Carol hesitated, then looked down to the pile of clothing in her hands, digging around it as Daryl and Jeanie looked on, finally extracting a tough leather jacket. Fixing the pile once more, she held the garment out to Jeanie, who wavered, unsure if she was supposed to take it. Giving her a reassuring, 'Go on', Carol softly nudged the jacket towards her, and Jeanie gratefully accepted, carefully grasping it in her unconvinced hands. Jeanie looked down at the well looked after piece of clothing, gently feeling it over for any nicks or cuts, that, she was surprised to find, didn't exist. From where her face was, a few inches of the leather, studying it carefully, she could smell a faint aroma of flowers – what flowers, she would never be able to pinpoint, having no aptitude for botany, but they were nonetheless pleasant to the nose.

Jeanie looked up at Carol, asking, uncertain, "This is for me?"

Giving an airy laugh that Jeanie could barely hear for its softness, Carol replied "Yes."

Silent for a few moments more, Jeanie responded, "That's real nice of you to give me this, but-" She hesitated, feeling rude, "Why'd you give it to me?"

Carol's eyes softened with a bit of regret as she explained, "There was a young couple with us at the start. Bikers. The lady had that jacket, and-" She sighed, voice lowering in volume, "Well, we'd only just started towards this gorge, so there were a few little walkers out here. She died, and the man…The man decided to leave. Permanently."

Jeanie caught the meaning through the way Carol's eyes turned away at 'permanently'. Solemnly nodding her head, Jeanie paused, before quietly replying with a grim, "I see." Bringing a slightly forced smile to her face, Jeanie glanced down at the jacket with new eyes, then looked back up to Carol, "Thanks for the jacket. It's good leather – it might help protect me from bites." She flinched minutely when she realised what she had said, unable to ignore a voice in her head pointing out that it didn't much help its last owner.

Carol looked a bit surprised at this, her soft voice an open book, "You plan on going back out?"

Hands fiddling with the sleeves on her new jacket, Jeanie replied, registering Carol's shock, "Yes," She paused, "I said I would."

Looking faintly uncomfortable, Carol quietly responded, "But you're a woman." There was a silence of uncertainty, "It's just that the women usually keep to the camp."

Suddenly holstering his knife, Daryl leaned back in his chair, both women looking to him due to his sudden movement as he spoke, "Doesn't matter," Carol stayed quiet as he spoke, looking to the ground, eyes downturned to the scuffed dirt beneath her feet, "Jeanie can do it if she wants."

Saying nothing for a few moments, Carol looked to Jeanie, gaze apologetic, eyebrows drawn together in worry, "I'm sorry – I didn't mean to offend." She paused, "It's just that Shane has never let Andrea out to patrol before, even though she asks." Carol's voice lowered, and she looked behind herself, back to the camp, "Women are expected to look after the 'home'."

Trying to be reassuring, Jeanie smiled, albeit awkwardly, "It's alright. I just think I'll be more use out there than here when it comes to chores." She dropped her eyes to the ground, laughing, "Never was good at cleaning." A short silence passed between them, in which Jeanie shrugged the jacket off, folded it neatly and hung it over her uninjured arm, careful to avoid knocking the wound on her opposite limb, which was beginning to tingle with pain again as the hard shot of whisky she ingested wore off. Sniffing the air, detecting the wafting scent of cooking meat, she grinned widely, stomach loudly rumbling with an abruptness which embarrassed her.

Looking up at Jeanie as she clutched her noisy stomach, Daryl stood, heaving all of her bags up onto his capable arms, despite her protests, addressing her bluntly, "You gotta go eat."

Giving up on her attempts to lessen the load he was carrying, Jeanie agreed, "Yeah." She turned to the patiently standing Carol, "What is it we're having, Carol? Daryl's squirrels, right?"

"Yes, you'll be having squirrel."

Pausing at the oddness of Carol's word choice, caught by the feeling of a deeper meaning below the thin surface of the conversation, Jeanie asked, "Are you not having it?" She stopped, at Carol's gentle shake of her head, before posing, "Vegetarian?"

Carol laughed quietly, "No, it's just that I don't sit with the group." Her eyes fell, along with her soft voice, and she slowly rubbed her arm, glancing behind her every so often with a distant gaze that was unfocussed and blank. Her tone was nearly clinical when she spoke, "I sit with my daughter." She paused, "And her father."

The disconcerting feeling that she was very much an intruder on a hidden moment, a stranger imposing on another's inner sanctum, suddenly overtook Jeanie. She quickly shifted her gaze to Daryl, who stood slightly off to her right, not looking back to meet her eyes, bags clutched firmly in his hands. Hesitating for a long few moments, it took some effort for her to answer, "I see. Well," she tried to grasp something to say, "If you want to sit with them all, I'm sure you'd be welcome."

Instead of verbally acknowledging the offer, Carol gave a faint nod, silent. A wordless tension absorbed them, and they all stayed quiet. After a few moments, seeming to mentally shake herself back to the conversation, she spoke, voice back to its usual volume, remaining naturally gentle, "It's good meeting you, Jeanie. I'm sure you'll fit in here just fine," Jeanie smiled in response, "I'll just go give everybody the rest of the laundry before dinner." Turning to Daryl, the two shared a mutual nod of goodbye and she walked away, lugging the bulky gathering of clothes in her arms and ambling round the rest of the campsite.

Neither Daryl nor Jeanie said much after Carol's exit. Besides a quick, 'Over here', or 'I'm just coming', they were relatively silent. Wordlessly, Daryl showed Jeanie a clear space for her to set up her tent, and she began to take the necessary poles and tools out of her bag as he dug the supports into the ground with harsh shoves of his steel-toe capped boots, agreeing without a sound between them that they could eat once their job was done, ignoring the gathering mass of people at the low fire.

Eventually, halfway through making the tent, as they unfolded a large gathering of waterproof draping between them both, Jeanie spoke, "Carol seems a nice lady."

Roughly throwing the material up, slowly tying it to one of the poles embedded into the soft ground, Daryl replied, uninterested, "She's fine."

Smoothing out one of the corners of the floor covering of her future abode, Jeanie asked, somewhat distracted with ensuring that it wouldn't leak water inside, "She one of the people you get along with, I take it?"

Shrugging in a decidedly non-committal fashion, he continued with his self-appointed task, "Sure."

She nodded, kneeling on the ground as she pulled at another side of the draping, "What's her family like? Nice, too?"

He paused at this, and she looked round to him, curious as she absentmindedly fixed another securing. Halting in dragging the material over the frame for a moment, he then answered, "Fine."

An eyebrow raised, voice lowered, Jeanie replied, "Just 'fine'?"

He shrugged.

"What are they like?" He didn't answer, so she prompted him further, reluctant, "I just noticed that when she talked about her husband, she-" Stopping her hands as she tried to grasp the right words for her thoughts, she took a moment to articulate what she wished, "I don't know, she just seemed a bit – lost. Or something like that." She shook her head, mumbling quietly to herself as she carried on with her job, "I don't know."

Standing up, he didn't bother brushing off his muddy pants, pulling a final fastening round the side of the tent that was fast forming, finally answering, "Her husband's a fuckin' weirdo."

"Really?" He nodded, stepping back from the tent when it was clear they were done building it up. Jeanie dusted off her hands and stood next to him, frowning and twisting her hands quietly, "Real shame. She's good. What about her daughter?"

He looked back to the tent, "Fine."

She smiled, turning to him slightly before looking back at the tent, speaking as if she was making a comment to herself, "'Fine'."

They stood in a collective silence, staring at Jeanie's new home, both thinking. At the sound of hushed conversation starting, and the wet slap of stewed squirrel meat hitting plastic dishes, they both wordlessly turned, walking together to the fire.

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'll post more chapters later. Thanks for reading so far - feel free to leave a comment!


	4. Chapter 4 - Unspoken

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jeanie meets Shane and Glenn, and has to convince the group to let her travel out of the camp.

Chapter 4 – Unspoken

Slamming his foot down on the gas, jamming the gear stick forward as he yanked the steering wheel to a sharp right and smashed into the side of a shambling walker, sending it flying into the side of the building, Shane's Hummer screeched as it skidded over the dirt path and bumped over collapsed corpses. Glancing at his rear-view mirror as he rounded a corner, the mob of walkers disappeared from view behind a cluster of trees, their dragging moans echoing around the forest, slowly dropping in volume before finally fading away as the car progressed further and further away from the abandoned gas station. Throwing a glance behind him as he turned the windshield wipers on, a spray of blood catching in one of the blades and smearing across the filthy glass, he caught sight of a furtive Glenn, tightly clutching gas cans in his arms, holding onto stray boxes stuffed with cans of food filling the backseat next to him.

After a long silence, punctuated only with the crunch of bones under the vulcanised rubber of the strong-track tires rolling swiftly beneath the battered Hummer, rays of the slowly retreating sun reflecting off of the side and blinding them both, Shane finally ground out, "What the fuck was that, Glenn?"

He could hear more than see Glenn whip his head up. A quick look at the mirror flashed Glenn nervously opening his mouth, wordless, grasping for something to say. It was only after a long, tense pause filled with the soft, tinny clang of canned food banging together that he replied, sheepish and apologetic, "I-," he stopped, "I'm sorry."

Hands gripping the wheel tighter before carefully relaxing, it took Shane a moment to calm enough to answer, "Not good enough." He threw a sharp glare behind him, the young man in the back possessing enough sense to look ashamed, "You damn near got us _killed._ "

"I didn't – I didn't mean to, I'm sorry, I'm really sorry, Shane. I just-" Again, he halted, voice fading away. After a long pause, he mumbled, voice barely audible, "I couldn't do it."

Shaking his head in disbelief, Shane scoffed quietly, turning onto the highway at long last, nudging his blood-splattered shotgun closer to himself as he took sight of the dangerous mass grave of cars lying abandoned on the crumbling, stained path. Eventually, pulling out at a turning point, ignoring which lane he was supposed to drive in – one of the scarce perks of living in the post-apocalyptic hell-hole of the world they were trying to survive in – he replied, "Well, you're gonna have to do it at some point," he tossed a glance behind him, fixing Glenn's averted eyes under a firm stare, "I'm not always gonna be there to pull your ass out of the fire."

A silence descended upon them. Eyebrows twitching sadly, Glenn turned his head down, gaze dark as he shrunk back in his seat, trying to ignore the blood coating his clothes, saturating every stitch of his sneakers and sliding uncomfortably across his exposed skin. Looking across to the metal prisons opposite them as they raced carelessly across the road, Shane determined to make it back to camp before the sun would fully set and cast them in a dangerous shadow, Glenn grimaced. Every few feet, a still corpse would flash up in the windows, decomposing in the humid Georgian heat, baking in the individual stoves of abandoned vehicles, guts bursting forth from their stomachs, maggots crawling round their bodies.

Gulping heavily, nausea settling in his gut and swimming uneasily about with every bump or nudge in the road, Glenn looked away as a walker, weakly banging against a cracked window, gasped out a groan, half of its body torn away at the seams and out of the gaping side door of the large truck it was thrashing feebly about in. Bending inwards on himself, squeezing shut his eyes against the horrendous monsters flaring up in his vision, he, nor Shane, spoke for the rest of the ride back to camp.

* * *

A wet slap upon the plate before her, disturbingly reminiscent of the sound of a corpse hitting the ground, brought Jeanie abruptly back from her thoughts.

Glancing down to find a thick, gloopy stew crowded with squashed, canned vegetables, a few chunks of grey squirrel meat swimming sadly about every so often, her stomach growled, prompting her to wordlessly take hold of the plastic cutlery quietly proffered by a woman called 'Carla', if the shout of a child grasping hold of the cardigan on her was any indication. Leaving Jeanie with a smile, silently heaving the child up into her arms, Carla strode away to a Hispanic man with a young boy by his side, lecturing him on the importance of eating one's vegetables.

Pushing her fork down without looking, blankly stuffing a diminutive carrot into her mouth, vaguely aware of the bland and inoffensive taste, she scanned her surroundings. Before her was a low fire, stronger than the flames Lori had used to cook dinner, but weaker than what was usually in the centre of any camp Jeanie had ever been part of. She supposed it was because darkness had fully set in, and any sudden brightness on the dull horizon would drag a mob of death to them. Continuing in quietly devouring the food, she was aware of a pinprick of a sensation of being tightly observed, turning slightly to glance at a wary Lori from the corner of her eye.

Beside her, Daryl scoffed, and she turned back. From the sharp glare he threw over her shoulder, she gathered that he had noticed the unwanted attention too. Averting her eyes, attempting to ignore the tension growing around her, she scooped up a lopsided hunk of squirrel and chewed down on the stringy meat.

After a long period of hushed conversation and relative silence, with a suddenness she caught in the edge of her vision, Dale, the older man that had defended her right to stay before, addressed her, speaking up from where he sat with two young, blonde women, "So, Jeanie," she turned to him, surprised that someone was beginning a conversation with her, "What's your story?"

Abruptly, many different pairs of eyes were directed towards her, curious. Wiping the edge of her mouth haphazardly with her sleeve, she fiddled with the cheap china plate on her lap, replying, "Uh, well," her finger skidded over the edge of the plate, a carrot edging perilously closer to its doom, "I come from further up North." She paused, prompted further by Dale's encouraging nod and warm smile,"I was just running about, really, following the rumours of where refugee centres were," she frowned, "I learned to stay away from them, soon enough - they never stood longer than a week. I ended up just going between slums on the edges of cities, when I found this portable radio in an apartment. It was pretty broken, but I got it working long enough to listen to this automated message a couple of ti-"

From across the circle gathered at the fire, a woman whose name Jeanie couldn't quite grasp abruptly cut in, eyes wide, "-You heard something on the radio?!" Excitement jolted like electricity through her features, rejuvenating what had been a sullen, dark frown.

Slightly surprised at the strong reaction, not noticing the piteous glances thrown in the direction of the woman, Jeanie answered, "Yeah, like an automated thing, telling where evacuation centres were, how to spot signs of infection, survival tips, things like that."

A twitch of discontent flinched on the woman's face for a second before it was smoothed, her eyes still dancing with a kind of manic hope, "But it was still from the government, right? It was still on the air?"

Halting for a moment, a feeling of dread creeping up at the desperate hope lain plain on the woman's face, suddenly noticing a man sitting next to the her, eyes boring darkly into the side of her raptly focussed head, looking enough alike to be related, Jeanie tried to think of what to say. Eventually, finding herself tiptoeing for reasons unbeknownst to her, she answered, voice hesitant, "Yes, but-" she stopped, unsure. After a long pause, she continued, "But I heard later on that the transmissions have ceased."

The woman's face fell. A tragic, exposed look of fear engulfed her features, and the man beside her seemed to take that as his prompt to step in, muttering for her to come with him and sit down for a while, away from the group. She shook off his comforting hands, eyes wide and sharply dug into Jeanie's own, voice quiet and wavering, "What?"

"...The transmissions aren't on air anymore. They're gone."

There was a long, painful pause, filled with heads turning away and uncomfortable fumbles. The woman stared at her, mouth agape, eyes dulling and unblinking. Finally, with an abruptness that made Jeanie tense in her seat, moving an inch closer to a halted Daryl, who sat, silent and uninvolved, in one motion, the woman dropped her plate to the floor, stood, and walked away, the audible crack of porcelain sounding in her wake. The man took a moment, dark eyes boring into the shattered plate with an intensity that spoke volumes in regret, then followed her off without a word.

Eyes fixed on the spot where the woman had disappeared into the shadows, Jeanie felt guilt – she understood with a horrible clarity that she had precipitated the long-time teetering mental collapse of another human being. Pausing for a long while, no-one else willing to speak first, Jeanie took a deep, steadying breath before asking, "What happened to her?"

Dale looked across to her, his piteous gaze fading as he turned back to the fire, answering, "She doesn't really talk to any of us, but we know that her husband works in the Government, in communications," he sighed, "she's been holding out hope for a while that there's still a Government left for him to be alive and part of."

Jeanie's eyebrows furrowed, her head turning down and hair becoming ruffled as she dragged her hand heavily across it, muttering lowly, " _Damn."_

She sat for a minute, undisturbed, until she heard Daryl suddenly speak up from her side, "She was gonna find out at some point – nobody's seen even a fuckin' policeman in at least a full month. Maybe the government assholes got away before shit hit the fan, but they won't care about us." He shook his head, scoffing, "Not as if they did, before."

Shaking her head, fingers tightening on her skull for a swift moment, she mumbled to herself, "I'm such an idiot." She laid her hands on her lap, knees bobbing up and down as her eyes bored into the ground. Abruptly, she made to stand, hastily moving aside her plate, a slip of meat tumbling out onto the dirt, "I should go apologise."

"You can't say anything to make it any better." The suddenness with which Lori inserted herself into the conversation surprised Jeanie, turning her to the opposite side of the fire where the untrusting woman sat with her son, passing him some of her vegetables, not looking up as she scraped a canned pea-pod onto his stew. The slight shock was enough for Jeanie to stay quiet as she continued, finally turning up and wiping her hands on her jeans, "What do you think you could say that would make everything alright again?" She fixed Jeanie under a sharp gaze for a moment before turning away again, voice falling slightly, "She's lost her husband – nothing'll make that any less horrifying."

Standing stiffly, hands falling as she took in Lori's detached gaze at the floor, a distracted hand reaching up to stroke the back of a suddenly despondent Carl's head, Jeanie felt a twinge of pity – she had seen enough lamenting, dead-eyed stares filled with guilt to recognise a woman deeply entrenched in regret. It took her a moment to loosen her legs enough to sit again, food forgotten.

A kind-looking man with a basketball jersey loosely thrown over him saved her from the unbearable silence, sitting down next to a gently smiling woman with dark, curly hair and bright eyes, handing her a glass of water before turning to Jeanie with a friendly smile and asking, "So, you heard somethin' on the radio. Anything in particular, or was it all just warnings to stay inside?" The woman at his side scoffed as she took a drink, clearly thinking back to the early days when the infection was spreading to rural towns only, and the advice was to barricade your home against wandering assailants – a tactic that would end in countless of thousands of people trapped and slowly starving to death as their only escape was blocked, or had their amateur blockades breached, leaving them completely at the mercy of the unfeeling dead, ensnared by their own defences.

Turning her head up, Jeanie replied, "Only one thing that really stuck out. There were plenty of warnings and things like that, like I said, but the thing that really caught me was this theory they were testing that that those biters decompose faster in greater heat." She shrugged, "It made sense. They're – uh – 'dead', after all – and dead flesh breaks down faster in summer than it does winter because of the heat. So I just kind of decided to come down here, to see if I could just wait all this out." She glanced over at Daryl, quieting slightly, "I didn't really have a plan."

Rubbing a hand over his stubble, Dale gave her a nonplussed look, "Seems a good enough idea. Maybe we _can_ just wait for a while until they rot away." There was a pondering silence before a friendly grin flickered across his face and he asked amicably, "You call them 'biters'?"

Blank for a moment, she replied, "Well, yeah." She paused, looking around at the interested faces surrounding her, "You know, because they – bite. Why, what do you guys call them?"

Daryl offered the reply to this question, unconcernedly devouring his meal, "Geeks."

Eyebrow rising, she turned, "...'Geeks'?"

He nodded, jaw tightening as he tore through a hunk of meat, a splatter of sauce hitting his lip, "Like 'carnival geeks'. Freaks."

"Oh," slowly, she turned back, "Ok."

Hastily, Dale jumped back in, "Well, that's what Daryl calls them, but most of us call them 'walkers': they were dead, but now they're up and walking." He smiled good-naturedly, "It makes a lot of sense that there'd be other names for them, when you think about it – there wasn't any set title for what was happening to people before the TV went dark, so of course people would make up their own. In the end, though, the things are the same no matter what name you call them."

Just as it looked like Dale was about to start speaking again, what looked like the younger of the two women next to him abruptly spoke up, leaning forward from her seat on the floor, a forgotten chunk of meat being absently played with by her fork, "What were you going to do when you got down here?"

Shrugging vaguely, Jeanie chewed her lip, the chapped skin stinging in the heat, "Survive, I suppose. Not much else I could do, really."

The girl suddenly stopped playing with her food, moving back slightly, "You weren't going to see somebody or something, no family or anything like that?" The older woman at her side frowned lightly, shaking her head, a mumbled ' _Amy_ ' floating through the humid air, muttering something Jeanie couldn't quite pick up, softly scolding what she assumed was her sister. Sighing quietly, the younger girl turned back, smiling apologetically, "Sorry. You don't have to answer that - that was rude of me."

Shaking her head, Jeanie assured her hastily, "No, really, it's fine, I don't mind at all!" She settled back in her seat, receiving a kind smile from the girl, "I didn't have anybody down here to see. I was just kind of wandering around, going from one place to another, really – no real goal in mind besides not getting bitten by those things and eating enough to get me further south."

A frown faded in on Amy's youthful features. After a while, she asked, quieter and less boisterous, "You didn't have anyone with you this whole time?"

Halting for a long moment, Jeanie answered, nodding slowly, her fork absently edging across her abandoned plate, "Well, when I ran, I..." She paused, grasping for what to say, "It happened so quickly, I just-" she stopped, looking away. A few uneasy moments passed before she continued, fidgeting, "Yeah. Yes, I didn't have much contact with anybody for a long while, and never had any companions to travel with. Just me."

The group stayed quiet, the only conversation coming from the fire across the way, belonging to Carol and her family, as her strange husband unconcernedly ordered her to get him more water before walking back to their shared tent, apathetic to anything happening with the group parallel. Furtively twisting her hands between each other, biting her lip, Amy spoke again, "Do you...have anybody left?"

This time, Amy's sister was far more to the point, immediately turning, muttering insistently, "Amy, leave her alo-"

"It's fine." The woman halted, her words dying as she looked up with Amy and saw Jeanie's face turned down, eyes turned away, shoulders tensed, her plate crumpling in her hands as they tightened and clenched. Eyes still intently boring into the dirt at her feet, Jeanie answered an immediately regretful looking Amy's question, "No. I don't have anyone left."

A deeply uncomfortable silence fell over them then, tense and unsure. Amy floundered, her mouth opening and shutting as she tried to think of something to say to make it any better, her sister simply staring at Jeanie, completely silent, Dale sitting behind them both with a sadly sympathetic, forlorn gaze directed at the young woman. Lori looked up, her hawk-like eyes darkening before turning away again, a sorrowful looking Carl gazing at the woman with a harrowed, disjointed stare. Carol, pausing in picking up a box of toilet paper, stared at her for a moment before taking her daughter's hand and walking away into her tent without a sound. Turning about to face everyone around them, holding the hand of the ones they loved, no-one could formulate any words to say.

Abruptly pushing his food away, Daryl turned to her. For a while, he just sat, looking at her, before, quite suddenly, she pre-emptively halted any attempt he might have made to converse with her by calmly placing her plate on the ground, standing, and walking away without a word.

The camp suddenly burst into a flurry of activity. For those less warm inhabitants of the site, they sat to one side, casting their hard gazes to the leaving woman as they began to trade thoughts on what had happened to her, reprimanded by the Hispanic family and the friendly couple who sat opposite, frowning at the harsh conversation. Lori immediately made to leave, telling her son that he'd had enough for the night and taking him along to their tent, against his protests to stay up later. Anguished, Amy took off after Jeanie, a distraught, thoroughly guilty slant to her expression as she wriggled free of her sister's arms and tried to catch up to the swift woman, calling for her to come back, ignoring Dale's advice to leave her alone. Daryl sat for a moment before pulling himself up, eyes boring into the quickly disappearing form of the woman he had brought into the camp a mere few hours ago as she steadily made her way up the path to their separated tents.

Finally having caught up to Jeanie, Amy was ready to offer a desperately sorry apology when she suddenly fell into the stiffened back of the woman in question, who had abruptly stopped, hand flying to her belt and the weapon that lay at her hip in her instinctual fright. Amy, taking a grasp of Jeanie's shoulders in her fright, shuffled forward, peeking round to find a broad mass of muscle that belonged to the chest of Shane, who stood before them, as surprised as Jeanie looked, eyebrows high and gaze pointed questioningly to the woman in question, who lowered her hand, eyes shifting over the man. Abruptly, the sound of a car door shutting rung out, and both Amy and Jeanie looked round in reflex to find Glenn, arms filled with boxes of cans, standing to the side of Shane's Hummer, eyes turned to the floor.

"Well, hello, miss. Who might you be?"

Turning back, Jeanie found she was being addressed, the man's rugged exterior betraying his polite and friendly question, his warm eyes gently prodding forth an answer. At this, the boy beside the newly parked car looked up, a bemused frown pulling at his mouth before he caught sight of her, his jaw falling slightly with shock at seeing another person in their midst, his surprise growing when Jeanie replied, "I'm Jean. Jeanie Hepburn." From behind, she heard Amy hasten to explain, before she continued, her carefully calm exterior masking a slight jolt of fear when she realised, looking down at the stained t-shirt declaring 'Kentucky State Police' that he was Lori's aforementioned Shane, the so-called leader of the camp that held the power over whether she would be condemned to the outside world or allowed into their sanctuary, "Daryl found me a little while ago and took me up here," she paused, "to stay and, uh-"

"-To live here in the camp."

The absorbed group, hunched together round the dirt path looked up, finding Daryl trudging over to them, a new scowl etched into his face as Lori trailed behind, softly murmuring for Carl to wait by the fire as Daryl continued, "She's staying here with us." On that word, he came up beside them, feet planting in the ground as he stood beside Jeanie and Amy, hands hooking into his belt as he flashed a steady look at the man in front of them.

Footsteps finally halting, Lori placed herself at the side of Shane, Glenn standing awkwardly off to the side, clumsily shifting the boxes about in his hands, looking up at him and confirming, "She's pitched her tent beside Daryl and Merle."

Shane's eyebrows shot up further, something Jeanie hadn't thought possible, glancing back to the camp and finding that, indeed, there was a new spread of marquee at the Dixon's little hideaway to the side, a large hiking bag and assorted belongings piled beside it, ready to be unpacked. Taking a moment, he turned back, fixing Jeanie under a scrutinising look, carefully murmuring, "That right, Miss Hepburn? You want to stay here – next to the Dixon brothers?"

Feeling Daryl bristle slightly beside her at the underlying implication there, she answered steadily, "Yes, Officer Walsh," He took pause at that, clearly surprised she knew who he was without introductions, "I'd love to stay here and live with you all." She halted for a moment, ignoring the irritatingly certain look on Lori's face as she turned slightly to Daryl, "Daryl is a kind man," Shane's eyebrows were practically lost in the blackhole of his hair, "and I would be very happy to stay beside him and his brother – Merle?" Daryl nodded slightly at her unspoken question, his own face raised slightly with surprise at the steadiness with which she made her assertion, "- and help out the camp in any way possible."

Running a hand through the thick mass of curls on his forehead, Shane took a moment, surveying her with uncertain eyes, prodded by Lori's silent disagreement, "Are you good at cooking?" Jeanie's face fell at this, as he continued, undeterred, "Lori and the girls could always use help making dinner for the camp – it takes a while. Or, if you prefer, you could help the kids with reading their textbooks, if you like that sort of thing."

Beside her, Amy tensed – unwillingly used to a woman of tougher grit than wanting to wash other people's clothes, she knew as soon as she saw Jeanie that she was a fighter rather than a housewife, and felt the answer coming before it was said, "Actually, I was planning on helping scavenge out of Atlanta and things like that."

Taken aback, Shane halted, Lori similarly surprised, a jolted breath leaving her lips as they numbly formed the words that had just passed Jeanie's own. At their side, Glenn perked up, suddenly interested in what was being said rather than the concept of a new person joining them, interjecting, "Wait, you want to go into the _city?_ " He shook his head in disbelief at her tentative nod, "Have you _been_ in there?It's not easy going, you know – there's geeks _everywhere_ , and it takes a long time to get there and back, never mind _finding_ everything on the list-"

"-I know, I've been doing it for weeks, myself."

Abruptly, he halted. Then, "...You have?"

She nodded, fidgeting awkwardly, "Yes."

He paused again, stunned into silence, the boxes shifting about quietly before a grin slowly formed on his face, a deeply impressed 'cool' drifting through the air.

It took Shane a moment of careful consideration before he joined the conversation once more, uncertain, "I'm not sure about that, Miss Hepburn-"

"-You can call me Jeanie, it's fine-"

"-Fine, well, I'm not sure about that, Jeanie." He shrugged his broad shoulders, looking over her quietly, "No offence, but you're not very hardy looking-"

"-She's tougher than Glenn."

Daryl's harsh assertion flicked Glenn's head up, a vaguely affronted keel sounding from him, " _Hey-"_

"- _Maybe_ they're about the same in all that, then," Shane snapped, irritation growing, "But she's still a woman." A shiver of offense ran through Amy and Jeanie at the implication, Lori standing off, unaffected, before Shane continued, voice falling to a more solemn pitch, "Things can be _done_ to her that wouldn't really be done to _Glenn_...Do you understand what I'm saying?"

Silent, Jeanie looked up at him, the group remaining quiet. Looking away, cheek twitching with a frown as her fingernails bit into her hand, she replied, soft and barely audible, "Yes."

Nodding slowly, Shane remained quiet. Leaning back, his hand coming down to be shoved in his back pocket, he sighed heavily. Flicking his eyes down to hers once more, they softened a bit as he began to speak again, "Listen, I understand you want to help out, but we have to be realistic – I may have been a police officer before all of this happened, but if you get trapped out in the city, I can't get you out. You don't have a SWAT team to jump in on wires and shoot anything that might hurt you, anymore: they're all dead. You don't have backup. You don't have a safety net, 911, or even a hospital for if you get injured. You're on your own, and you can die with one slip up. So, I'm sorry, but I just can't let you take such a giant risk – we only get Glenn to do what he does out of absolute necessity, but we never, for one single moment, think he's not in danger of never coming back."

Abruptly, Glenn turned, shoving the boxes out of his face as he spoke, tentative, "I dunno, Shane, maybe you should just give her a chance."

Turning to him, struck for a moment by the sudden turn of support against him, Shane bit out disbelievingly, "What, you're on their side now, too?" Glenn shifted, clearly uncomfortable with the conflict, mumbling something that Shane ignored, striving ahead with a harsh cut, "You can barely defend yourself, as you've shown today, Glenn," flushing with shame, Glenn shut his mouth, eyebrows denting as Shane continued, "Besides, you don't even know her, so you can't speak for her."

"She seems nice!" Glenn had a sudden spurt of courage to speak back after the damaging point that pierced him before, "She seems like a good person, Shane, and I think you should just let her try to help!"

"It's not about if she's a _nice person_ , Glenn, it's about _survival!_ It's about whether or not she'll not be killed when she goes into a city filled with things trying to devour her, and whether she can handle the pressure of staying alive in Atlanta – and I can't trust that she can, so I can't let her go, in good conscience." He shook his head, "She should stay here and help where she'll be safe-"

"-Nowhere's safe, and you know it." Daryl's growl cut through his rant, sharp and harsh, "At least with Glenn she can be of some use, instead of sitting about here and fixing the holes in your pants for you."

Snapping slightly, Shane scowled, "Well, even if every single place in the world is dangerous, at least here she'll be surrounded by people that can help look after her, helping Lori and the girls instead of out there without a paddle up shit-creek." Pausing for a moment, bristling slightly at the aggressiveness of Daryl's body language, he turned back to the girl they were so vigorously discussing. Unmoving, she looked back up at him, face drooping with an intense sadness that actually gave him a twinge of regret at his steadfastness. Looking away, finding it too disheartening to see her looking so utterly forlorn, he concluded, "You can stay here– but you can't go into the city; that's my final word. I'm sorry."

The faint, apologetic smile he gave her failed to comfort her, and seemed only to further agitate Daryl, who looked ready to start an all-out brawl over the injustice he had borne witness to. Instead of proving the bad reputation he had been undeservedly given by the rest of the camp, however, he surprised them all when his face straightened and he loudly stated without any malice, "I'll take her with me."

Turning to the man, Shane frowned, "Where?"

"Where do you think - the moon?" He scoffed at Shane's unamused face, "Hunting _."_

Jeanie looked up, eyebrows raised, a glint to her eye forming once more even as she kept quiet for the conversation to continue, Shane replying with an unimpressed grunt, "You think, after all I just said about not letting her go into the city, that I'll just let her go with you to hunt?" He let out a heavy sigh, "As good you are with that crossbow, I don't think it's a good idea to have you both go out – she could get hurt. Anyway, she doesn't know how to hunt."

Throwing his shoulders back, Daryl replied steadily, "I'll teach her. And she can defend herself just fine: how do you think she got by out there for so long – with her pretty face and good intentions?" He shook his head, "She's good at staying quiet and getting around quickly, and she can swing her machete hard enough."

There was an unconvinced pause from Shane as Jeanie stared at Daryl, a deeply absorbed intensity in her expression as she tried to process the fierceness with which he was defending her, arms gesturing with his words, "Look, if I was her, I would just go, fuck your permission – but she doesn't want to cause trouble for herself, not after being out there for so long, so she won't go into the city or with me if you tell her you don't want her to. But, I'm telling you, if you make her sit about like a little housewife and prepare your fuckin' meals, it won't help the camp, and it won't help her. If she comes with me, we can bring in extra food and stop any stray geeks from wandering up the path - and we'll stay out of the way."

The whole group stared at him, wordless. Shane's eyes hadn't shifted from him for the entirety of his proposal, studying him with the sort of disbelieving carefulness that is shown in a zookeeper when a lion suddenly rears back from a roar to a mewl. For a moment, they were all convinced that he was going to question Daryl on the stoutness of his defence for this woman he had known for all of a few hours, when, instead, he said, "Alright."

Moving away slightly, Lori looked up at him, taken aback, "What?"

Glancing at her from boring steadily into Daryl's eyes, he answered, "Fine, she can do it." He gestured to Jeanie, whose eyes and mouth were wide in her disbelieving surprise, "You can go with him – but he'll be responsible for you." His gaze sharpened, and he turned to the man, a low growl biting through the air, "If anything happens to her, it'll be on your head. Got it?"

Scoffing derisively under his breath, Daryl asserted, "I'll look out for her."

Shane held his gaze for a moment more before backing off slightly, nodding slowly, satisfied. The tension began to drain away, leaving a lightness in the air as Jeanie's face brightened, her posture straightening as she grinned widely. As a sort of conclusion, a peace-offering after such a furious debate on her new life, Shane came forward to her as conversation began to ease back to normal at the camp-fire, everybody pretending they hadn't been sitting for ten minutes solid listening in on the argument as a few walked round to the parked Hummer and started to unload the boxes.

Just as he began to speak, Jeanie abruptly stuck her hand out, at which he stared for a second in surprise before grasping it and shaking it firmly, a relieved smile breaking on his face at the lack of bitterness in her expression as he spoke, "Welcome to our camp, Jeanie – I hope you find comfort here."

Releasing his hand with a good-natured smile, she replied, "Thank you, Officer Walsh."

Laughing slightly, he corrected her, "I'm not with the Police Department any more, as you could probably guess – call me Shane, and feel free to speak to me any time."

Nodding, she answered, "Sure, Shane. Thanks again."

He nodded, taking one last look at her before turning and going to Lori, who stood off to the side, Carl at her hip and talking with her as he glanced round at Jeanie. Behind her, she felt Amy's hand leave her arm as the young blonde came before her, quietly offering her apologies for any offence or upset she may have caused earlier, which Jeanie absolved her of, smiling kindly at her before the relieved girl gave her a soft hug, walking off with a wave to speak to her sister and Dale by the fire. Grinning gently at the Korean boy holding the box – Glenn, if she was right – as he awkwardly smiled at her, waving haphazardly as he unloaded some more boxes, she looked to Daryl, who was leaning back on his haunches, silent, as he looked out at the activity bustling around them.

After a pause, they both turned and began to walk to their small section of the camp, Daryl able to tell from the bags forming under Jeanie's eyes and her small, withheld yawns that tiredness was sinking its hooks into her. By the time they reached their separate tents on the edges of the little community they now both inhabited, she wasn't even bothering to hold them back anymore, her face stretching and falling intermittently when she let loose a low breath, Daryl glancing back at her every so often when she trudged round the small pile of rocks arranged in a circle around a burnt patch of grass, used as a fire-pit.

Reaching the outside of both their adjacent tents, they heard the low, garbled words murmured by Merle in his drug-induced state drifting out, directed either towards some imaginary busty blonde or the haunting ghost of their father punctuated every so often with a loud, howl-like snore that sounded frayed at the edges from all of his years of abusing cocaine. Paying no attention to the self-assured whine of _'Merle'll make you scream, baby'_ , she turned to him.

In all her young years, Jeanie had never liked to beat around the bush – and she had felt herself doing it today, much to her guilt. Thinking back to all the times she had spoken her mind, getting straight to the point, she frowned sadly into herself, wondering if all the things she had went through, all the things she had seen out there, had forever damaged who she was. It was with a hint of shame that she met his eyes, furrowed her brow and mumbled a soft, "Thank you."

There was a silence. It seemed as if she was never going to get an answer when his distinctive drawl suddenly pierced the air, blunt, "Say what's on your mind."

She looked up, uncertain. Moving forward again, coming slightly closer to him, she fidgeted before speaking, voice louder and more to the point this time as she came right out and asked, "Why'd you do all that?"

He didn't pause in his reply, "What."

Taking pause, her head came back slightly, "Defending me. Deciding to take me with you hunting."

His silence weighed heavily on her. Eyebrow furrowing slightly, his eyes maintained their hold, "Why do you need to know?"

This halted her. Shutting her mouth, blinking at the realisation that she didn't really have an eloquent reason, her shoulders twitched up, "I don't know. I just-" She paused. Looking back up at him, her voice dropped slightly, "I just didn't think anyone would do something like that, anymore."

The sounds of rattling tin cans and conversation over new discoveries in the boxes in the Hummer started to wind down behind them, conversations strolling slowly to a stop as people retired for the night, a symphony of yawns harmonising around them. They remained where they were, standing outside their canvas homes, staring at each other, wordless. Jeanie's brow dented as she stood, uncertain of what to say, the sound of a few, careless birds gently swooping through the trees overlapping with the faint whispers of night-time farewells as her thoughts deluged over one another, worthless and vague.

"You deserve a chance."

Her eyes flicked up, struck by his exposed affirmation, catching in the glow of the otherworldly moon hanging ominously in the sky, illuminating them in a barely telligible glimmer, the fire at the centre of the silent camp now a smouldering pile of dying embers. He was staring at her still, his eyes never having seemed to move since they had arrived at her eyes, studying her for something she couldn't quite grasp.

After what seemed like an eternity of silence, he finally removed his gaze, moving away as his vague enigma of a continuation drifted through the thick night air, "That a good enough reason for you?"

She didn't respond. The unshakeable feeling of missing something important overwhelmed her as the niggling whisper of words being left unspoken slithered through her mind, holding her mouth shut and her eyes focussed.

Looking back to her, his eyes shaded, Daryl gave her a nod. Without another word, he turned and walked away, pushed aside the material to his tent and closed it behind him without a backwards glance. Standing still, watching after the spot where he had studied her so intently, Jeanie smiled.

Turning away, she retreated to her tent and the hope of dreamless sleep.


	5. Chapter 5 - Proving

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> With a time skip of a week from the last chapter, Jeanie and Daryl spend some quality time together.

Chapter 5 - Proving

Squinting her eyes against a beam of light passing over her face, Jeanie abruptly awoke from her light slumber.

Outside, plump birds were squawking obnoxiously, pecking unhurriedly at tree trunks in a half-hearted attempt to catch the scattered flocks of ants fleeing beneath their hooked feet. A gnawed at squirrel jumped past the window, a streak of blood smearing on the glass from where it stumbled unsteadily against it before making its flighty run. Jumbled trees creaked about, echoing through the all-encompassing forest, bountiful leaves bouncing when a slight wind blew through, the only allowance from the harsh summer heat.

Furrowing her brow at another spectrum of light bouncing off the half shattered bottle of wine resting against the windowsill to pierce her shut lids, Jeanie cracked an eye open and was immediately met with the sight of a threadbare blanket lying empty beside her, with no evidence of having been slept in. Pausing, it took her a moment to gather the strength in her vocal chords to sigh heavily, staring at the vacant space for a minute more, silent. The harsh light of day illuminated her, rays pressing in insistently through the cracked, filthy window across the room. Taking another deep breath which quickly turned into a muted yawn, she shifted, her instinctually huddled up limbs, feeling assaulted by the world, releasing, her arms retracting to rest above her head, allowing her to roll onto her back and awkwardly extend her legs under her raggedy blanket. Muscles relaxing after a moment, hushing, she let them fall to the wayside, silent, thoughts already thrumming through her head.

Ignoring the urge for further rest from her tired legs, she closed her eyes for a just a moment. Abruptly, as she lay there, quiet and unassuming, hidden thoughts running through her mind, a pinprick of sound flashed up in her senses. A muffled footstep, naturally measured and shadowed, thumped softly against the splintery floor outside the room, but she didn't move, head turning up to the ceiling. Entering the room now, the footsteps approached, closing in on her, but she still didn't jump, instead just laying where she was, an absent hand playing at her wrist, tugging lightly at the battered leather watch tied to it.

After a quiet moment, permeated elsewhere only by the prickly buzzing of a bloated fly circling the fringe of her arm, the sounds came to a stop, halting beside her, and she finally gave a soft murmur, "You need to rest sometimes."

The footsteps shifted slightly, and she looked up with a clear gaze to find Daryl leaning back on his haunches, shoving his crossbow away in its holder as he brushed her off, "You need it more than me." He looked at her for a moment, hands coming away from his back to be shoved in his pockets before he turned away, kneeling down to the small satchel bag at his feet to open and rummage through it. Jeanie took a light breath before slowly raising herself up, arms coming forward to lean at her sides as she pulled up her knees, head quietly falling against them as she watched him search around in it, unspeaking. After a moment of silence, only the sound of lightly clanking cans accompanying them both, he found what he was looking for, throwing her a familiar tinfoil pack which she caught automatically, hand closing without a thought over it. Popping out the last, starkly white tablet from its shining cage into her forever dirt streaked hands, she swallowed it dry before grabbing the canteen at her side and gulping down some water.

Looking across the room, she found the sun firmly settled in, its rays bathing the woodland area surrounding the dilapidated cabin house she lay on the floor of, grass and the odd twig scattered about inside the night before, along with a thick layer of dirt from where she and Daryl had moved about. The innermost door on her left still bore the brunt of where he had broken it to get them inside, pushing past the weak lock hastily closing their entrance off, smashing it along on its hinges to crash against the wall as she jumped to his side to cave in the heads of any walkers that could have been lurking about. Having entered to a now overly familiar odour permeating the space, they followed its source to the filthy bathroom to find a lone man, gun fallen from his bandaged hand to slip onto the splattered floor, the gaping space where his head had once been framing a single word written in fly-encased blood on the tiled wall: 'Sorry.'

Taking but a moment to stare at the scene before them, they had both moved in at the same time, soundlessly bundling the unidentifiable remains into a bloodied sheet they found in the hall to rest outside, among the trees and scattered remnants of civilisation. Coming back inside, about to close the door of the disturbingly still room, Jeanie was stopped in her tracks by Daryl, who walked forward, picked up the orphaned pistol, checked the ammo chamber, and came back to stand before her, slipping it into her hands with a low 'Three rounds.' It took her a moment of silence, staring at his even gaze, to nod, stopping herself from looking away to her right. Pausing, she once more took the handle, shifted away, and pulled shut the grisly chamber behind them forever, grasping the dead man's last weapon in her tight grip as she walked away.

Daryl had now moved to grab something else, a tin of some revolting SPAM like mystery meat, swimming about and slapping the sides of the can it had been forced into as he handed it to her to rip open, using the lid to scoop the mushy grey stuff up to her mouth. Chewing quietly, Jeanie wiped her mouth when a trickle of cloudy juice from the can fell down her chin, dripping down her collarbone as she watched him glance at the now empty pill wrapper on her lap, muttering, "They're finally done." He looked up at her, eyes flicking to her carefully positioned arm, "You feelin' any better?"

Finishing up her quick meal, shoving the dripping can away from her to roll away on the bare wooden floor, she took a moment to glance down at the clean bandage covering her arm before replying, "Yeah – a lot. It doesn't look so bad anymore, either."

Daryl came towards her slightly, leaning forward, taking a gentle grasp of the limb she proffered, scrutinising the uncovered surrounding area himself. Turning over her arm, he moved closer, nodding to her, muttering quietly, "Definitely better. Asian Boy must've got the right stuff, after all."

She nodded, smiling as he carefully patted over a bruise on the outside of her elbow, a little remnant from a few days previous when she had stumbled right over a bramble-covered stone dyke, battering her arm as she tumbled over down the small hill after it, face struck frozen with surprise that stopped her from halting her descent or even yelping with the shock. Daryl had been there in an instant, sprinting over from where he had been making an orientation-mark in a tree with his hunting knife, helping her up and immediately pulling her arm towards him, eyes sharpening on the gauze for any sign of a rip in her haphazard stitches, steadying her even as she told him, laughing embarrassedly at herself all the while, that she was alright. That had been a good day – she had caught a rabbit later on after that, with her first working catch-trap that Daryl had watched her build, refusing to help her despite her lack of request for it, set on her learning how to do it alone as he had done. She was sure that was the most she had laughed in quite a while; it was appropriate that it had been at herself.

Moving away, Daryl let her arm come to rest against her side again, pulling the rucksack back towards him and looking around for another can. Finding one, he shoved the bag away to lean against a fallen table, dusty with disuse, tearing into his own meal as he propped his feet up before him. Pausing for a moment, absently rolling his canteen over to him from the bag, which he grabbed, downing a big gulp, she brought a hand up to lightly rub her temple, careful to avoid a bruise from her fall the other day. Pulling back her hair, she tied it back with a hairband Amy had given to her, advising that if she needed anything else, all she had to do was ask. Coming back to the moment, the ring of metal as Daryl scraped his lid into the can for the food within filling the room, she started to fumble around her pockets for her spare pack of gauze, patting down her numerous pockets.

A gleam of light near her tucked up foot caught her attention for a moment as she searched around, a quick glance revealing the small scrape through the leather of her boots that opened up a sliver of the steel in the toe-cap – a lucky piece of protection a few days ago, when she and Daryl had come upon a broken down walker, half-devoured on the ground. Without warning, it had appeared below them from a shrub as they walked back to the camp, catch in hand, hooking onto Jeanie's closest leg and snapping forward – however, before there was even a moment for either of them to process what was there for all of its decay, Jeanie's surprisingly swift instincts had kicked in and brought her other foot forward to smash into its head.

The moment afterwards was silent, blood and nauseating chunks of brain dripping from Jeanie's boot as Daryl's crossbow sat cocked in his hands, pointed at the walker's now still body, with him staring at her. After a long pause, ears detecting no other threat nearby, she had moved her boot away, carefully and quietly wiping the viscous bile on her boot away on the grass at her feet, and looked up, waiting for Daryl to speak. If Shane found out that she had gotten so close to such immediate danger, he might try to stop her from going hunting – he had told her as much plainly before she first went out. However, Daryl only took a moment before he turned away, wordlessly prompting her forward with him, handing her his own wild bird as her own lay in the pool of blood from where she had dropped it at the moment of attack, forgetting everything else. Silently, they both looked at each other and knew that not a word of what had just transpired would be spoken in camp.

"You can probably stop wearing them, now." Jeanie looked up, finding Daryl looking at her arm, can laying empty at his side as he fiddled with something on the handle of his crossbow. Turning back to her arm, uncovered still, she stopped turning her pockets out and studied it herself, unsure. Letting his weapon sit on the floor, he came forward slightly, once more pulling her limb towards him for just a moment to confirm his suspicions, pushing it away again as he nodded, muttering, "It'll be fine, the wound's healed now so there's no chance of geek blood getting in it." He paused, glancing at it again, "It'll still leave a scar, though."

"That's fine," he looked up at her as she shrugged stiffly, turning away, her search for bandages abandoned, "Not my first."

There was a pause, Jeanie taking a moment before starting to shove things away in their shared rucksack, pushing her blanket in, messily folded up. Her back facing him, she ignored the scuttle of a mouse in a hole in the skirting and a bloodstain under her hands as she grabbed some of the useful things she had found dotted around the house when they were checking it out. The sound of the floorboards indicated that Daryl was standing up, a quiet crack of bones clicking into place bringing to mind an image of him throwing his shoulders back and stretching his neck.

"I'm not gonna ask you about it."

She paused, hands halting with a stained pack of batteries in their grip. Glancing back, she found him fixing his belt tighter around his pants, a faded streak of blood betraying the gory work he carried out every day. She didn't speak even when he gave no immediate elaboration, simply waiting for him to speak in his own time. Eventually he stopped fixing things on himself, and looked up, finally giving a blunt continuation, "Your business is yours. I'm not gonna ask you about before."

There was a pause. Jeanie stared up at him, unsure. It was only after a minute that she informed him, sombre, "I heard them talking about it in camp the other day."

He furrowed his brow, "Who?"

"Everybody." Her eyes shifted away slightly, "They were all sat for dinner when we were getting back with that bundle of fish we got at the river down by the clearing. They were talking about what they thought had happened." She paused. "I walked in just before you and they stopped before you heard anything."

There was a silence. Daryl glared at nothing in particular, riled, his voice harsh when he muttered a curse lowly to himself. Jeanie looked away again, embarrassed all of a sudden, when he asked her bluntly, "Was Lori talking?"

She hesitated, "They all were," she settled on, eventually.

His glare deepened, and he leaned away on his haunches, muttering, "She likes to create fuckin' drama for everybody."

Eyebrow denting, Jeanie sighed. Tentative, fingers fiddling over the covering of dust over the batteries lying in her hands, she put to him, "I think she spoke to Shane again about me staying at the camp." Daryl looked up at her, scowling, "He came up to me yesterday after dinner and had another chat about being careful, asking me if I would like to keep watch with him and Dale instead sometimes," she shook her head, quiet, "I just told him 'no thanks' and ran off to bed."

Scowling further, he shook his head. They remained silent, both caught in their thoughts, minds thrumming. Jeanie found the wherewithal to finally push the batteries in her hand into the rucksack, mind absently noting that they could be used for Glenn's flashlight, followed by a couple of half-used candles and a can of tinned peaches for the kids. She supposed that was the end of it as Daryl stood back, moving to the doorway, nudging it open with his boot as he looked across the small hallway, forever aware of danger.

Finally finishing, Jeanie shut her bag, swiftly shrugging her leather jacket on, the pleasantly nostalgic scent of lavender barely clinging to the material any longer despite Carol's attempts to keep it around for her, knowing even without an explanation that Jeanie enjoyed it. Splatters of repugnant gore splashing across it and dense mud permeating every stitch even as Jeanie tried to keep it in its pristine condition broke its hold, and the nice air around it was now gone, replaced by a thick scent of workmanship – not unpleasant, but heavy nonetheless. Rolling the sleeves on the jacket down, fixing the stiff leather cuffs, aware that they were an extra guard against bites, she pulled her bag on, striding forward to where Daryl awaited, both leaving the room without a backwards glance.

Pulling open the front door, Daryl walked out first, carefully scanning their surroundings, crossbow at the ready, lowering it slightly when he looked back at her, giving the all clear. Walking out, she brought a hand up to shield her eyes against the glaring sun, even stronger outside than in. Looking around them, fixing her machete on her belt, she abruptly noticed the bundled up pile of bloody bed sheets containing the body of the man they had found. It was covered with even more flies than it had been in the bathroom, and now a fox and some feral looking rats were crowded around it, too, picking at the scraps, ignoring the couple nearby for the moment. A hand had been pulled out of the sheets, and was dangling there, a trail of ants leading up it, bone already showing.

Jeanie turned away. A movement before her made her look up, and she found Daryl turn to look at her, steady, waiting for her to say something. After a moment, glancing back at the pair of rats that had started to fight over what looked like a rotten eyeball, she quietly asked, "Should we bury him?"

He shook his head, "No." Pausing, he turned to look calmly on at the graphic scene before them, Jeanie beside him, a droop to her shoulders as he replied, "At least he's giving someone a meal. Better him than us."

They stood there for a while longer, silently watching the body being pulled apart piece by piece, and then, the squeals of mutilated rats echoing in the background, they turned and walked away.

* * *

Slicing through the air in the blink of an eye, the crossbow bolt passed over a leaf and slammed straight into the back of the squirrel's head.

Pausing for a moment, watching the handmade arrow embed itself in the tree, the now limp corpse of the animal dangling from the end, Jeanie brought the crossbow down, smiling with relief. Walking forward, glancing about, she grabbed the feathered end of it and yanked it out, carefully attaching the squirrel to her belt. Daryl appeared at her side, taking a look at her handiwork, a mildly impressed grin on his face, "That was pretty damn good."

Smiling wider despite herself, Jeanie replaced the wiped down bolt back in the weapon, steadily pulling the notch back, "It was just luck, really. To be honest, I was aiming at the one above."

Scoffing slightly, Daryl accepted his weapon, pulling it back into his hands as Jeanie fixed her belt again, making sure the squirrel wouldn't fall off along with her other haul. They had brought in a good hunt that day, each filling up their lines reserved for the smaller animals they found. Although they hadn't found any big game, it was a good pull nonetheless – and the camp would eat well tonight.

Turning away from the tree, they continued down the path they were on, surrounded by brambles and the like, keeping an ear out for any movement as they continued home. Although they usually didn't talk that much when out in the woods for fear of alerting any animals to their presence, they whispered quietly to each other, happy with their days work. Since they had gotten what they needed, there was a bit less pressure and more room for relaxation.

Glancing to her right, finding Daryl scanning behind them for a moment before turning back around, Jeanie quietly put forward, "So how's Carl doing with the crossbow, anyway?" Daryl looked at her, brow quirking up, and she added, "I saw him with you yesterday, trying to string it."

He was silent for a moment, continuing walking, pushing a branch up out of the way for them before replying, "He asked me to teach him a while ago. Wants to be able to defend the camp."

"It's a good idea," he glanced at her as she ducked under his arm, carefully pulling her leg up from a protruding tree root as Daryl followed, letting the branch down again as she continued, "it might not be the nicest thing in the world, but he really should be able to fight, just-" She frowned, kicking a stray twig out of her way, "-Just in case anything should happen." There was a pause as they carried on down the path, coming to a bit easier footing with less low-lying branches blocking their way, and she glanced round at him, quietly inquiring, "I take it Lori wasn't too happy?"

"Lori can go fuck herself." He paused after his slight snap, scowling, "She doesn't know."

Brow quirking up, Jeanie's head came back slightly and she turned to him, "She doesn't?" He nodded, and she stayed silent for a moment before nodding, shrugging, "Well, it's probably better that way. She doesn't want to see it, but it's the-"

A rustle broke their conversation, and they both immediately froze, hunching over slightly as their weapons twitched up. Silence fell upon them as they stared ahead, a quiet snap of a twig forward of their position alerting them all the more. Abruptly, before either of them had a chance to properly scan ahead, a deer suddenly popped out of the bushes. Their eyes widened and Daryl immediately prepared to pull the trigger – but, suddenly, the deer's ears twitched up and it was gone in a flash back the way it had come.

Without thinking, Daryl and Jeanie sprinted after it, all thoughts of returning to camp abandoned for the moment as their feet pounded the ground, arms shoving branches out of the way as they gave up all pretence of quiet. Jeanie ran ahead, her nimble legs pushing her faster even with the rucksack on her back, machete still up in her hands, gleaming as they passed through the dying sun rays, the lone man's pistol clanging against her belt buckle with every step. She was barely gaining on the animal, edging closer only a few inches when there was still many feet between them, and it was tempting just to call it off as useless with such odds, but she pressed forward nonetheless, eyes sharp as she focussed ahead.

Just when her legs were beginning to tire, screaming at her to rest, the deer suddenly reared back and allowed Jeanie the moment she needed to push herself forward to it, machete stabbing down without a thought on its head. Before she could finish the job, grimacing at the twitch of the poor creature's limbs, Daryl gave a sudden warning holler, and she spun around, machete raised without a thought - too late to stop a huge, 6 foot something walker, the largest she had yet to see, lunging for her, bloodied teeth snapping at her.

With a yelp, she barely fell away from its clawing hands, her legs stumbling over the fallen deer, the walker's half-devoured pinning her in place as it pushed down on her, jaw working madly in an attempt to get a bite. She tried to pull her machete up, but the strong grip of the walker pushed her arm down, away from its head, twisting her wrist around despite her furious attempts to push back. Behind her, she heard Daryl charge into the clearing, shouting for her even as she bellowed for his help, panic rising as her arms struggled to keep the creature above her, leather jacket barely shielding her flesh from being ripped to shreds by its claws.

A muted thump she distractedly realised was Daryl dropping his crossbow to the grass came from behind as her hollers rose, grunts of effort turning to desperation as the walker began to close in, teeth gnawing at the air above her nose, and she breathlessly shouted, " _Daryl,_ _ **hel**_ _-!"_

-Daryl's hunting knife smashed into the walker's head, pushing it off of her as he lunged over her, pushing it to the ground. Without pause, he brought the weapon back up, plunging it back down immediately upon the still shuddering walker, blood splattering everywhere as he finally caved its head in. Jeanie pushed herself up, limbs aching, breath coming in harsh gasps and chest heaving even as Daryl stopped, pulling his arm away and slowly moving away from the walker, leaning back next to her.

After a pause, filled still only with Jeanie's slowly calming breathing, he eventually turned, asking, "You okay?"

Jeanie nodded, a quiet confirmation passing her lips. Glancing round at the walker, she turned to face him, "Are you?"

He had opened his mouth to reply when the deer abruptly stood, wobbily bounding for an exit, and they whipped around, both immediately leaping up after it, Jeanie sprinting to it first and finally ending it with one fell swoop of her machete. The animal's legs collapsed and it tumbled to the ground, limp, Jeanie standing over it. Closing her mouth, she sighed, drained suddenly, Daryl standing at her side as he nudged the deer carefully, making sure the job was done.

Glancing round at him, wiping away sweat beading on her forehead, she furrowed her brow at the bile covering his front, quietly murmuring, "We'll have to stop at the river and wash before we go back to camp."

He looked up at her before glancing down to his clothes, unconcernedly observing a chunk of brain roll off of his shoulder as he nodded, "Fine."

They stood for a moment longer before a movement on the edges of the clearing caught both of their eyes, and they turned to it simultaneously, weapons edging up. It took Jeanie a moment, staring intently at the darkness, to make out what it was, and when she realised it, she lowered her machete, a soft 'oh' escaping her lips. Across from them, under the shade of a huge oak stood a baby deer, a few days old at best, shuddering on weak legs and staring at them with wide eyes.

Glancing round to the fallen deer with a frown, Jeanie turned to Daryl, who still had his weapon raised, and informed him, "It's just a baby-"

Before she even had a chance to finish, he pulled the trigger, letting the bolt loose to rocket through the air and hit the animal straight in the head. There was a long pause as it fell quietly to the ground, neither party saying anything. Striding forward, Daryl swiftly pulled the bolt loose, wiping it down and pushing it back into its place. Coming back to where she stood, watching quietly, he looked at her for a moment before bending down to feel the weight of the deer's head, answering the unspoken question, "That was its mother – now that its gone, it would have died in a few days," he let the head back down again, "might as well put it out of its misery."

Remaining quiet, Jeanie looked up ahead at it, still in the shade and half-visible. At her feet, a pool of blood was spreading from the mother, staining further the sun-baked leather of her boots. To her right, the broken, jumbled body of the lone walker slowly decayed, finally starting to succumb to the elements.

Looking away, Jeanie bent down to pick up the deer with Daryl, and, turning, they started once more back to the camp.

* * *

For a moment, Shane simply stared at her, eyes narrowed, head coming back slightly, brow furrowed. Silent, Jeanie kept his gaze, waiting for his reply even as the seconds ticked by without any indication that he would give one, the jumbled sounds of various conversations humming happily behind them from where they stood at the edge of the camp behind the RV, Dale temporarily giving them privacy as he sat down for some food with the girls.

Finally, bringing a hand up to rub at his temple, Shane looked away with a sigh and asked her exhaustedly, "I thought you were done with that."

Immediately, she was back with a soft reply, shaking her head quietly, "I'm happy with things as they are right now – but I still want to help. Glenn and I, together, could really pull in a big haul for the camp in one shot if you let us. We wouldn't need to go out again for a while, guns could be arranged for everyone, we could stick up a wire fence boundary instead of just the cans as alerts-"

Gaze sharpening, Shane interrupted her, "—You sound like you've thought about this a while."

"I have." She nodded at him as he remained quiet, the sounds of boiling pots at the campfire joining the muted conversations behind them, "I've been thinking about it every day – Glenn and I looked at his maps, I gave him mine to look at, and we think we've found a good weapons store we could stock up from."

Stunned for a moment, Shane shook his head. Sighing heavily, he asked, "Glenn talked you into this, didn't he."

Shaking her head, she replied quietly, "We talked about it, thought it was a good idea, and thought up things together." She paused, trying to gauge his unpromising reaction. When he bored his eyes right back at her, steady and level, she replied carefully, "With extra guns and ammo, everyone would feel safer. And," she halted for a moment, "And we could collect food to start stockpiling for winter."

His hand came away, his frown deepening, "It's a bit early for that, isn't it? We'll probably be long gone before then."

There was an uncomfortable silence on Jeanie's part. Looking away, uncertain of what to say, ignoring the pleased laughter at the fire as the bountiful dinner she and Daryl had contributed so heavily to was finally brought out, she hesitated for a moment before eventually giving a gentle reply, "Shane…I think you need to consider that help might not come."

That seemed to have been a misstep. His eyes snapped up, his frown turning to a scowl, and he edgily muttered out, "Leave it." She quietly shut her mouth, eyes falling down somewhat, knowing when to stop pushing. There was a long pause as he seemed to calm himself somewhat, frustrated expression fading. He looked up, uncertainty etched into his features, leaning back as he evaluated her. Eyes falling on the spot her bandage had so recently covered, finding the large scar there, he sighed, replying with a slightly more gentle tone, "It's a good _idea,_ Jeanie." She quirked an eyebrow, waiting for him to continue as he paused, thinking, "I just don't know if it'll work out."

Coming forward, she steadied her nerves, "Daryl and I have worked well together, right?" Reluctantly, he nodded slowly at her, and she continued, "You weren't sure about that, but it turned out well for everyone. If Glenn and I go together, we can get everything really important in one go, and then I won't even need to go all the time with him. Food can be hunted, at least – Daryl and I can get that - but if we got these guns, in the long-term, things would look better for us." She finished, arms coming down again, right hand twiddling slightly at her side with uncertainty as she waited for him to speak, watching his gaze flicker slightly. Hesitating, looking away for a moment as she glanced round to the soft firelight bouncing against the window of the Winnebago, she softly asked, "What do you think?"

There was another silence. A bead of sweat fell down Jeanie's arm, he heat suffocating even without her jacket, the night-time harsh on them all even with the lack of light. Mosquitoes fly by them, fat with blood, lolling around in the air as field mice scuttled around in the bushes, crumbs of last night's dinner stuffed in their claws.

"Fine."

She looked up, and he nodded at her, sighing heavily once more before adding quietly, shoving himself off of the Hummer, "You can do it. But, first, you and Glenn can try getting supplies from a store only on the edges of Downtown. If you manage that," he nodded slowly, "you can do it."

Pausing to give her one final look, Shane lightly patted her shoulder and walked around the RV, leaving her standing alone. Taking a moment to let the information sink in, Jeanie smiled to herself, slowly following him, coming around to grab a plate and chat quietly with Glenn as Daryl sat beside her, silently glancing round at their pleased faces.

She could do it, no problem – of that he was sure.


	6. Chapter 6 - Preparations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Paired up, Glenn and Jeanie prepare to travel into Atlanta on a gun run. However, things don't seem like they'll go entirely to plan...

Chapter 6 – Preparations

Shoving an extra bottle of water into her bag, zipping up the front pouch that was stuffed with a few extra batteries, Jeanie sighed.

For about twenty minutes now, Andrea and Shane had been taking part in a long overdue shouting match in front of the RV. The spark to the barrel of gunpowder that had been filling up for weeks now was when Ed, Carol's strange husband, had thrown a pair of dirty underwear in Andrea's face and ordered the supposed 'bitch' to wash them. Subsequently, as to be expected, Andrea had nearly pummelled the man, held back only by Shane's strong arms and not at all soothed by Amy and Dale's attempts to calm her as she screamed to hell and high water for the man to just try and hit her, to see what would happen to him then.

Ed had retreated to his tent for the rest of the day after that, following his normal routine of napping and having his meals brought to his separate eating area by his wife, steadfast in his attitude of telling everyone who wasn't him to go fuck themselves. Just when everybody thought that would be the end of it, Andrea abruptly decided that since she was already in a position where no-one would be able to ignore her for once, she might as well make the most of it – and promptly started to quarrel with Shane over patrol rights.

Glancing behind to find the woman in question in the same spot, Amy and Dale standing resignedly by Lori, who was watching the exchange like a hawk, Jeanie immediately turned back around when a finger was angrily pointed in her direction, paired with an infuriated shout accusing inequality. Shoulders stiffening at the mention of her name, she continued with her task, accepting a Tupperware box of leftovers from a distracted, restless Glenn who was staring over her bent down back.

Flicking her eyes up to his preoccupied face, Jeanie stuffed the box in the bottom, carefully shifting aside a bag of chips as she quietly commented, "They're really going at it."

Eyes not moving away from the small crowd gathered around the disruption, Glenn heaved a sigh, "Why does everybody have to argue all the time?"

Shrugging, pulling up the bag, shaking it slightly so everything sat as it would if she was walking, Jeanie held out her hand to him, replying calmly, "It's just what happens when people live so close to each other with no one else around – especially with this heat."

Shaking his head as Shane started to get annoyed, trying to brush off Andrea with the reasoning that she hadn't shown she was able, to which she rebutted that she hadn't a chance to prove herself so by washing people's stinking undergarments all day every day, Glenn turned back to Jeanie and handed her a few items. Watching her put all of it away, he quietly asked her, "Have you still got those flashbangs from the other day?"

Nodding even as she pulled at something in the bag that had caught on a bundle of bobby pins for locks, Jeanie replied, "Yeah," she paused, breaking the thing free, "you know they won't work on the walkers, though."

"I know, but it's just…" He trailed off.

Jeanie halted what she was doing for a moment, glancing back up at him again with soft eyes. Turning slightly to him, hands moving away for a moment from their work, she asked him quietly, "Are you still worried about that?"

Leaning back, hand brushing the sweat-tinged hair away from his temple, Glenn shrugged uneasily, "We have to be sure."

Nodding, she replied immediately, "I agree. But I think we can be sure it's fine now-" she paused, "—when we got there, there wasn't much left."

Glenn blanched at the memory, looking queasy, "What idiot would go around Downtown shooting up the place? There was a whole herd."

"Some people just don't think." Jeanie's voice was drowned out for a second as Shane rose his voice up to try and meet Andrea's assured yells, before she managed to strain her words ahead for him to hear, "But like I said, I think that should be the end of it – otherwise, if we _do_ see somebody else running around, we'll just…" Another shout, "Go with the flow on that one."

There was a silence – on their part at least – before Glenn nodded, smiling weakly at her, "Alright, you're right. It'll be fine." Jeanie nodded at him, smiling back, turning back to the bag as he continued, "So Daryl's off hunting again without you?"

"Yeah, just for today – if we manage to get these guns." She looked up to find his expression dampening a bit, a frown pulling slightly at his lips, and she felt herself smile as she informed him casually, "I'll still come along sometimes, if you want, though."

Turning slightly to her, Glenn smiled widely, posture loosening somewhat as he laughed awkwardly at her offer, "That'd be gre-"

" _Jeanie. Glenn_."

They both turned to find a resigned looking Shane gesturing for them to come over, shaking his head all the while. Swiftly zipping up the rucksack, Jeanie stood first, shrugging it over her shoulders, fixing her jacket. Glenn got up too, his own bag, reserved for the supplies they scavenged, pulled quickly onto his shoulders as they started to walk to the centre of the camp. Spotting the assured grin of Andrea from where she stood, waiting for them, Glenn's brow dented, an uneasy feeling bubbling in his gut as he leaned over and whispered lowly into Jeanie's ear, "You don't think he's actually going to let her come along with us, do you?"

Glancing up, quickly scanning the two figures they were quickly approaching, Jeanie shook her head, smiled calmly and reassured him with a soft pat on his shoulder, "I'm sure it'll be fine."


	7. Chapter 7 - Horizon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Up on a roof in Atlanta, Merle happily makes conversation with Jeanie.

Chapter 7 - Horizon

Pecking at the dead, milky eye below its talons, pulling apart the muscles in the decaying skin clinging to it bit by bit, the lone grey bird gulped down a chunk of stinking flesh. Flapping its full wings, uninterrupted in its feast upon the collapsed man with a bullet hole placed in the centre of his temple, its fat stomach ploomed out, engorged with carrion. Tearing a vein away from the rotten face, sending cloying blood sputtering onto the concrete floor, the pigeon trilled contentedly.

And then, quite abruptly, a rock shot out from its left and threw it over the roof.

Letting his arm fall back down, Merle burst into a thunderous round of guffaws, his cigarette falling from his mouth. Watching the utterly confused bird across from him try to pull itself back before clumsily slipping away and flying away shakily, his barks of laughter were renewed, the stones in his left hand clicking against each other as he shook with mirth.

Taking a moment to calm his breathing, not bothering to turn away from where he sat haphazardly on the very edge of the roof, flicking a new cigarette up into his lips, he called out behind him with a grin, "That was a damn good one, you gotta admit, Girl Scout."

From behind him, looking out the opposite way as she leaned against the roof's boundaries, staring the horizon with a pair of half-broken binoculars, Jeanie replied neutrally, "It was alright," she paused for a moment, squinting at a walker bashing repeatedly against a wall in the distance, "I'm just glad you did that instead of your first idea."

He laughed, already eyeing the area around them for more unwitting targets, "Sugar Tits downstairs woulda had a bitch fit if she heard me using ol' Berta here," he patted his rifle affectionately, lighting up his cigarette with his other hand, "as much as I like staring at her rack jigglin' when she's all riled, I don't really feel like dealing with her bullshit." Remaining silent, Jeanie continued to stare off into the distance, legs holding her steady where she stood, as still as a carving. Finally glancing behind himself for a moment, taking a long, satisfied drag, Merle quirked an eyebrow, throwing and catching the dusty stones in his palm, "You not tired from all that standing, kid?"

Shrugging her shoulders slightly, Jeanie gave a quiet, steady reply, firmly pushing at the stiff dial atop the scope, "I need to keep a lookout."

He scoffed, lining up a shot at a moth resting on the wall next to him, "But where's the fun in that, huh?" His rock hit the moth dead-on, collapsing it and sending it plummeting to the ground. Smirking at the hit, he turned around again, drawling lowly, "Come take a break and sit in Uncle Merle's lap, girlie," he pulled his cigarette out, blowing out a fog of smoke, patting his thighs, "it'd be real nice."

"No thanks." She didn't bother turning away from her focus as she responded, swift.

Not missing a beat, Merle's shoulders shook as he laughed gruffly, "This about the other day, Girl Scout? You know what whisky does to a man's wandering hands – can't blame me for trying, huh?"

After there was no reply for a minute, her silence unbroken, she heard him grunt, a low 'must be a dyke' floating in the background as he shifted back to what he was doing. Fumbling around in his pockets for a moment, a quiet rattle came as he pulled out his trusty bottle of pills, popping one quickly into his mouth, leaning on the air vent beside him as he settled back. Swallowing, satisfied, he asked, half-interested as he started to intermittently throw rocks again, "So where's China Boy," there was a phantom, resigned inference of 'Korean' from Glenn in Jeanie's thoughts, "fucked off to, anyway?"

Adjusting the binoculars' sight, a glaring beam of light struck her in the eye, obscuring her viewpoint and forcing her to pause. Squinting, she shifted slightly, "He's looking for the gunshop."

Hacking a cough, Merle brought his head forward and spat off of the side of the ledge, watching as the glob hit a putrid walker square on the head, barely registering on it at all as it continued to stumble along the alley. Shifting back, satisfied, he commented with a smirk, "Boy, he _really_ wasn't happy with all us 'civvies' comin' along at all."

"We had planned to quickly jump in and out, with no mess. That's not possible with so many people, so he has to just scout for now."

Laughing, Merle didn't give much of a reply to her quiet answer, his swift pill already starting to pull at the edges of his consciousness. Glancing behind, making sure he wasn't in any danger of falling off the roof in his stupor, Jeanie got back to her task. She had yet to see Glenn for the past little while – she didn't worry, knowing that he would be fine, but she wondered what sidestreet he must have taken to avoid the gathering of walkers a few blocks down. It seemed busier today – she supposed another ignorant flock of young birds hadn't dodged the hands of the mob quickly enough.

Words starting to slur slightly, Merle dropped his pile of rocks, bored, pulling his hunting knife free from his boot and twirling it around in his fingers, "So what's the deal with you and my little bro, girlie?"

She didn't answer immediately, brow furrowing at a group of walkers all wandering in the same direction, so he prodded her again, finally pushing out a response, "Nothing."

Leaning back further, an arm coming back to cushion his head from the hard metal surface of the upstanding vent, he scoffed, "Oh, you both 'just friends', that i-"

"No." She barely looked over her shoulder, facing him for but a moment of pause before turning back again, a feeling building in her stomach, a low, niggling nudge at her head as she looked out, "I'd like to be."

He laughed again, distracting her from staring at a walker, inexplicably fixated on a point out of her sight, "That so? Well, why bother when you've got a real man right here, kid?" Something moved at the outer edges of her vision, pulling her focus, alerting her instincts all of a sudden as her back straightened, "They don't call me 'Durable Dixon' for nothi-"

A shot rang through the streets.

They both fell silent, halting. There was a pause as they waited for any other sound apart from the sparked moan of the walkers in the city, drawn to the noise. Brow quirking, Merle spoke up after a brief moment, interested, "China Boy have a gun?"

Already renewing her efforts, quickly studying the horizon, even more focussed than before, it was all Jeanie could do to answer him distractedly as her instincts started to pinch at her thoughts, furrowing her brow, "No."

Another.

She didn't jump at the sudden noise - just mumbled street names that were close to Glenn's planned route to herself, mind buzzing with rampant thoughts that tried to force action from her before she fell silent again, muscles tensing, ears pricking. Hearing Merle slowly stumble up behind her, she brought the binoculars down, still scanning everything not obscured by Atlanta's towering skyline, alert for any sign of Glenn's swift figure running around the streets.

A final, resounding gunshot.

There was no time to even register the growing howl of the undead before a sudden movement threw Jeanie's arms up again, the binoculars immediately pressed to her eyes once more, gaze sharp and unflinching even with the blazing sun pressing in on her. She took but a moment before finding what she sought – and, with that, she turned, shoved the binoculars into Merle's hands, sprinted over to her bag, grabbed something, and shoved her machete into her belt.

Behind her, Merle glanced around, turning away from the horizon to inquire casually, "Ya see Boy Scout out there?"

"Yeah," she scooped up her gifted pistol into her hands, flicked the safety off, and shoved it behind her back, hooking a flashbang onto her grimy belt, "And someone else."

That said, she kicked her bag out of the way, threw herself up the small walkway over the pipes, shoved the door open and sprinted down the stairs, the jingle of her hidden gun's bullets and a disappointed 'So we're not gonna fuck?" left in her wake.


	8. Chapter 8 - Dread

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In the aftermath of Merle's abandonment, Rick and Jeanie make tense conversation on the way back to camp.

Chapter 8 - Dread

Slowly, without a sound, a droplet of black bile fell onto Jeanie's cheek and slid down her face.

Her jeans were splattered with even more vile filth than usual, and a piece of lower intestine still clung to her top from when she had flung her soaked coat off after a walker grabbed at her, the stench of the dead washed away in the rain. Behind her, there was utter silence, the group in the back of the delivery truck having neither the energy nor wherewithal to speak. Outside the window on her right, where she sat ram-rod straight, shoulders tense as her grimy arms rubbed against the nasty faux leather plastic seat with every movement, abandoned rows of cars flashed momentarily by, dusty shells baking the broken inhabitants inside.

They drove on the road into the city: the road that was emptier than a church beside a strip joint as thousands upon thousands of people desperately tried to escape the hulking, rusty bear-trap of a metropolis. The backs of signs warning that tiredness kills and espousing the dangers of drink-driving zoomed up into view for seconds, a few stray bullet holes in some since before the fall of civilisation as hillbillies loaded up on scotch and drove to the outskirts to take pot-shots at billboards. It could bring a sardonic smile to someone's exhausted, lined face nowadays, a sign like that. A vodka-tonic would go down nicely when you're speeding off from a city of walking corpses trying to devour you.

"Was he your friend?"

Jeanie turned to her right, looking up from her filthy shoes. In her lap, a scuffed hunting rifle sat and shifted about with every shudder of the van, shaky carvings embedded in the tail-gunner, crude forms of busty women and drunken scribbles covering every inch apart from a small space with the word 'Berta' impressed in. Behind her head, a thick plastic window was fitted in, the sort of thing a taxi would have to stop their drivers getting shot, presumably so any stray objects wouldn't tumble out at a sharp turn and smash into the driver and his passenger's heads. It muffled conversations with its thickness, silencing words completely if they were quiet, as evidenced by earlier when T-Dog threw himself into the back, alone, a pained little sentence passing his lips as everyone slumped against the inside of the van, staring wordlessly at him, sweat dripping from them as they made their escape.

This in mind, Jeanie turned her head away from the rugged, kind-eyed man with a gleaming sheriff's badge and moved back in her seat, leaning on the window away from the back-fixture as she answered with a soft, "No." They rumbled along in silence for a moment after that, the blinding sun back out after the earlier downpour, strong as ever, reflecting off of car hoods and into her face. Eyes glancing back at the man in the driver's seat to find him looking at her with an unsure gaze, turning away when she saw him, she continued quietly, "He was somebody else's though."

He seemed to deflate slightly at that before his eyes, now focussed on the road, hardened a bit, his hands clenching slightly on the wheel. After a while, voice softer than before, he replied, "I see," there was a long pause, filled only with the rumble of the engine and the soft thuds of pebbles hitting the wheel-guards as they sped by before he continued, "Did he have family?"

"Yes." Her hand came up to absently play on her arm, fingers gently swooping over the flesh as a subconscious sort of comfort, "A brother."

A long, deep sigh escaped his lips at that, barely held back by his gritted teeth. She turned away, feeling as if she was intruding on a private moment. There was a silence which she could have filled with reassuring words and such little things as that – but, in truth, no words came to her wounded mind, and her own gut was heavy with dread. So, instead, she sat and allowed him a moment, quiet, pretending not to be there.

After a respectful amount of time had passed, she told him softly, eyes still turned away, hand moving to hold the rifle in place,"You'll like it in camp. It's nice." She paused, and he looked around for a moment, a faint smile tugging at the edges of his tired face, probably just a show to be polite as she added awkwardly, "Well, I don't really spend that much time there - I go out hunting and, you know, things."

Pausing, he didn't speak for a moment, eyes scanning the road ahead for any stray walkers they might crash into, gaze skipping over the odd broken pile of bones and decaying flesh at the side of the asphalt, eventually asking gently, "You don't like it there?"

Her hands stopped on the gun, moving away slightly. Her head turned away, shoulders sinking a bit. Looking back up to the road, not turning around to him, she replied quietly, "It's not that. I," she hesitated, "just didn't have the easiest time at the start." She paused again, her lip thinning for a moment before her voice strengthened and she added gently, "I'm just used to going out, now, that's all. It's normal."

Nodding after a moment, he returned to the road, eyes turning away. Jeanie's hands returned to the rifle, stopping it from knocking against her knees every couple of seconds on a bumpy patch of road as he asked, his kind voice reaching out to her quietly, "So are there a lot of people with you all?"

"Quite a lot," she thought for a moment, "I'd say about thirty or so. There are kids."

That halted him. She stopped speaking, halting at the look in his eyes as he stared into the distance. Remaining silent, watching him carefully, it was only after a long pause that he brought down his stiff shoulders, hesitating before asking her, "Who-"

She had to quickly interrupt him then, realising that in her pause she had failed to see the highway exit coming, swiftly pointing up to the right road and leading him through some odd turns and twists as they left the main route and started down the area surrounding the vast quarry space. It was a probably five minutes later when they could stop to talk again, and by then the flow of conversation had been thoroughly mixed, leaving them in silence.

When she told him that they would be there soon, nodding forward to a path for him to rumble across unsteadily, she glanced around, finding him tense. The rifle shifted about in her loose grip, partially forgotten in her dictation, tapping her calf and bringing her attention back to it all of a sudden, an unwanted reminder. It brought to mind a heavy feeling and train of thought that she didn't want to pursue. Looking around to him again, she realised he probably felt much the same, his infrequent glances around directed to it immediately, his shoulders falling when it came into view.

This in mind, hearing an uncomfortable, muffled cough from behind them as someone in the back of the truck, another nudge to the uneasy air surrounding them all, she looked away for a moment, "I'll tell him, if you want." There was a pause as she heard him look round, turning her up to look at him again, gentle eyes meeting his gaze, "If you need me to. You don't have to do it if you don't want to."

He stared at her for a moment, silent. She stayed her gaze, watching, waiting patiently for an answer, brow denting until he answered sadly, "I don't want to," he looked up to the road again, only glancing back for a moment to her quiet form before turning away, voice barely audible, "I _need_ to."

She looked at him for a moment, silent. Then, blinking gently, she turned away, nodding softly, no reply coming forth as she wordlessly sat back, chin moving forward to lean against the barrel of the unloaded gun, her hands resting on her lap. Eyes turning away, she looked out to the burning horizon with shadows of death looming far in the distance, clouds of a returning storm rumbling ominously on the fringes of the blazing sun. They were racing it back to camp, likely only able to best it by a few hours; nothing could stop it from arriving and wreaking vengeful destruction, a dam of fury breaking and unleashing on them all.

Jeanie sighed.


	9. Chapter 9 - Storm Clouds

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Daryl arrives back from hunting, and things come to a head.

Chapter 9 - Storm Clouds

Kicking a large branch out of the way, barely paying any heed to the loud splash of it hitting the glass-like water of the lake and the droplets swooping up against her face with the impact, Jeanie dropped herself to the ground. Her knees dragged against the knife-like shards of rock from the long-past excavations of the dilapidated bulldozer decaying slowly atop the quarry, with one of the larger pieces digging into the denim of her jeans and ripping a small hole, nearly imperceptible for all the dried gore surrounding it which never really left, despite all of Carol's efforts to free her from the damning stain. The tiny fragments tore her calloused palms as she pushed back and threw herself to the dirt, a tiny cloud of dust flying up with the force of her, sweeping off and settling about her as she turned her head up, silent.

Up the hill, conversation was starting to settle back to normal as the inhabitants finished their meals courtesy of the few extra cans Jeanie and Glenn managed to stuff away in their bags before their daring escape from the deathtrap that was Atlanta. It had been upset somewhat when Jeanie had abruptly stood from where she had sat at the edge of the group in utter wordlessness for the entire meal, staring off into the distance and barely touching her plate. With a soft, mumbled apology, she had excused herself, half-heartedly citing a sore stomach as she shoved her plate away and quickly strode off, people stopping in their joyful exchanges in the aftermath of the reuniting of the Grimes family – the only one overtly removing himself from the festivities being T-Dog, who had immediately retired to his tent with Jackie, gaze hard and unwilling, utterly silent. A few mumbled amongst themselves on whether they ought to pursue her before Shane, in an unusually gruff and harsh voice from his removed spot opposite Rick and his family, advised them all to leave her alone.

Nobody followed her after all. She was able to make the short walk alone, her gifted pistol jingling softly at her side, a few field mice skittering away at her approaching form as she traversed noiselessly over the pebbly path to the bank of the quarry, shoving herself off to the wayside from the joyous crowd above.

The sky seemed never-ending from where Jeanie lay, gaze hard, staring with unseeing eyes at the emptiness above her. It was strange to see a vacant space where airplanes and helicopters used to buzz angrily through the air. She used to think on it sometimes before she came to camp. Stopping in a tree for but a few hours, blood always leaking from her weary wound, muscles always aching, voice always withheld, it was the only thing that she could focus on sometimes. Alone, tired, perpetually on the run from death – and all she could think on was how empty the sky was without people around to fill it. It was enough to make her cry. But she didn't. She never did cry out there, on the run. She wasn't quite sure why not.

The sounds of clumsy, hesitant footsteps overlapping with the trickle of pebbles dashing over one another suddenly came into being at her back. Her instinct to flinch at the unexpected visit was quenched quickly, and she instead remained still, waiting as the footsteps gradually approached, finally halting just before her.

"I know Shane said to leave you alone, but I wanted to make sure you're okay."

It was Glenn. She flicked her head up slightly, eyes turning away from the bare sky, silent. There was a long pause as he came into view, fidgeting, gaze darting about on her face, until he managed to softly inquire, "Are you?"

A long silence followed his words. It seemed like Jeanie would never answer, her eyes turned away again, arms at her side, gripping tightly to the ground, fingernails forcing dirt and grime into her hands. Finally, she sat up, wordless, face shielded from him by her back, as her soft reply came forth, "No."

Another pause. Then, with a quiet, uncertain sigh, Glenn walked forward and sat gently down at her side. Watching her as she brought up her knees, filthy hands clutching at them as her back bent over and her face crushed against them, his brow dented, gaze hesitant. Her gaze was fixed on her own watery reflection, boring into her mirrored, rippling eyes.

He didn't need to ask his next question about what was wrong, for she answered it without prompt, voice muffled against her knees, "It's never fair out here," she stopped, a knot of seaweed at the basin of the lake tangling further in on itself as she slowly brought out a hand and ran it through the water, staring at the undulations of the surface, "Not really. One thing's given up for a new thing to come. We can never just have both."

Wordless, he waited for her to continue. When she didn't, he leaned back, bringing his own knees up as well, his shoulder brushing hers, his brow furrowed. After a moment, he asked gently, "Rick and Merle, huh."

Her hand stopped moving, shifting back towards her as her quiet affirmation came forth, "Yeah."

Glenn gave another sigh. It felt like all he ever did nowadays was sigh, but he couldn't stop himself when he saw her dim, tired gaze staring out without any destination. She always seemed to be somewhere else, Jeanie – he had noticed it a bit when he met her, but it had only grown clearer to him as he grew to know what little he information he could garner from her. There were a few moments when she came back completely – moments of danger or tense threat – but sitting down, in the calm and safety of the camp, she never seemed totally there. Something had changed for her, he supposed - and he could tell that nothing would ever really go back as it was for her, even if the world went back to normal. The weight of this grim thought dragged his shoulders down, his posture weakening.

"One happy family; another broken one," she paused, "Never fair."

It was all Glenn could do to bring his hand hesitantly up and grasp her shoulder, gently moving closer to let her head rest against his shoulder, eyes still staring listlessly ahead.

"I know," his quiet voice wavered, volume falling as the seconds dragged painfully by in the dim, waning light of the campfire above, "I know."

Falling silent, they both stared out into the distance, eyes barely registering the night slowly turning to day in all the endless hours they sat there, alone, removed, still.

Neither of them slept that night.

* * *

With a thud, the line of squirrels in Daryl's hand fell to the ground.

A cloud of dust flew up as they hit the floor, rolling onto the blanket he was aiming for, left behind as he strode up the dirt path. His soft footsteps filled the graveyard hush of the cleared campsite, dozens of pairs of eyes watching in silence at the sidelines. Behind him, Jeanie trailed, utterly silent, gaze fixed on him. The sun beat down, seeming to sear them with more vicious heat than usual, reddening her dirt-streaked skin, chapping her bitten lip, blinding her alert eyes. At her back, a muffled conversation bit through the air between Shane and Rick, a swift exchange as they marched forward. There was a stiff tension in the air, jerking her shoulders up as Rick gently moved her aside, stepping forward with a grimace, Shane wordlessly following, brow furrowed.

Shrugging off his leather holster, flexing his strong, precise muscles and throwing back his toned neck, Daryl hollered, "Merle? Got squirrels to skin," he leant his crossbow against a log, grabbing a cup full of lukewarm water from the covered pot beside the doused fire, gulping it down without pause as he continued offhandedly, "Shoulda seen the geek I had to get today on the way back, you wouldn't believe how fuckin' ugly this thing was, even for a dead piece of shit – stopped us from getting some venison, the fucker." He carried on forward, dust flying up at his heels and coating his filthy leather boots as he reached the outside of the Winnebago, watched carefully by Lori at the crowded doorway as his brow furrowed and he called out again, "Where you at, bro?"

He was met with silence. A few birds that had been hanging on the edges of the camp for a little while, picking up any scraps as they hunted the insects that gathered around the only site with human life for miles, flew off at his echoing shout. The skitter of their talons sweeping off of their holds on nearby trees and their slapping wings filled the air, their ignorant squawks tightening the tension around them, emphasising the stillness of the camp. Dale and Lori stood uncomfortably at the front of the abruptly filled RV, watching carefully along with the edgy faces pressed against the filthy windows, silent.

Scowling deeply, Daryl looked around, annoyed gaze flickering over the campsite. Ignorant of the vacuum of sound around him as his irritation started to grow, niggling at his mind, he took a strong breath and hollered again, "Mer—"

"—Daryl, wait."

At this swift interruption, Daryl stopped where he was, halting, and turned to find a grim-faced Rick before him. Quirking his brow, eyes sharpening at the man, he brought his shoulders up, glancing round for but a moment to find Jeanie and Shane behind him before boring his gaze right back into the other man's, already tense. Something in Rick's expression clearly rubbed him the wrong way, hitching his muscles, as he scowled silently at the man as he came to a stop in front of him, already continuing to speak, an almost apologetic twinge to his carefully low, steady inference of, "We need to talk."

This statement only riled Daryl more, sharpening his gaze, cutting his brow to a harsh line as he replied harshly with a stab of his crude voice, tone almost like a warning, "'bout what?"

It took only a moment of hesitation on Rick's part for Shane to step forward, taking rein for a moment, his uneasy gaze sharpening and clearing as he answered steadily, "There was an incident in Atlanta. With Merle."

The dead quiet that suddenly rushed in on them, becoming all the more rigid and edged than before and forcing in a void of uneasiness and raw tension was almost too much for Jeanie to handle without buckling despite her usually steady nerves, a droplet of sweat falling soundlessly from her forehead as she tightened, quick eyes shutting down solely on an abruptly still Daryl. He had frozen, it seemed, for a moment - absolutely stuck in his spot, unmoving. The fading calls of those plumping birds that had flew off a moment ago echoed around the valley, waning after a few moments before disappearing completely, leaving them all in a dark, tight stillness. Then, after a few seconds – hours, months, years it could have been within this microcosm of discomfort and penultimate dread – Daryl looked away, risen shoulders tensing in and out so quickly one could almost feel the tremble themselves just watching, his feet shuffling over one another as he strafed away to the side, eyes shutting down.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity of dread, his painfully low, forcefully even voice suddenly came into existence, shadowed eyes still boring away into an indeterminate distance, "He dead?"

The answering quiet was taut, frozen. It took a moment for Rick to steel his gaze, his eyes flicking away for but a second before flashing back up, dark and grim, his admission sinking his posture and lowering his voice, "We don't know."

That was the wrong thing to say. Immediately, Daryl flashed his suddenly sharp gaze up, posture stiffening into a rigid shield, his powerful legs pushing him forward to snap furiously, "The fuck does _that_ mean? Who the fuck are you?!"

"Rick Grimes." Rick's steady response edged Daryl's shoulders up another inch, the last name flicking his gaze round to Lori, who was holding Carl firmly inside of the RV and staring wordlessly at him, almost accusing him of something with her harsh gaze. Shane stiffened, his muscles twitching, dragging Jeanie's gaze away for a moment to flick between him and the tense exchange of gazes between Daryl and Lori, brow furrowing and breath coming out in an unsteady little shake as she turned back to the pausing man.

Eyes sharpening at Daryl's sudden turn of focus, Rick continued, his hands flinching towards the gun at his hip, fingers twitching as he spoke, "Your brother put us in serious danger with his actions – he was high as a kite and brought down a whole mess of walkers on us. After he attacked T-Dog, I handcuffed him to the roof we were on," Rick halted for a moment at Daryl's taut intake of air, "we didn't get him out before we ran. He's," another pause came as Rick's gaze flicked away to a deathly still Lori for a moment, "He's still up there."

Daryl's shifty paces back and forth abruptly stopped, his gaze whipping around and burning all it touched, "Are you fuckin' _serious?_ You just handcuffed my brother to a roof – and then _left him there?!"_

Jeanie's forehead perspired with cloying sweat, an awful dread gripping her even as Glenn quietly took a grasp of her shoulder, gently squeezing as a useless sort of comfort as he stared ahead with her, Shane having left her to stand at Rick's side, tense gaze flicking back and forth. Daryl's chest heaved, his breaths coming harshly, his blazing eyes burning a hole through Rick's own, hands tightly crushing the water-spotted tin cup that was still in his grip. Rick stood stock still, his gaze dark, muscles twitching.

Finally, looking back behind him for but a moment, posture sinking and expression twisting, Daryl whipped back up and threw the cup at Rick's head as a distraction, lunging forwards and immediately initiating a cacophony of shouts and yells as the unbearable tension of the day snapped and he pulled back a fist to shoot forward into Rick's abdomen.

Barely noticing Shane sprinting forth to tackle Daryl, Jeanie wrenched herself from Glenn's suddenly pulling grip and ignored his panicked cries for her to come back as she ran forward, launching herself at Daryl's side, tumbling them both over to the ground before his fist grazed Rick, landing them in a violent tangle of limbs and curses. Behind her, she could hear Shane madly hollering for her to get out of the way, yelling that Daryl had pulled a knife as he struggled to get in and pull her out without being stabbed. The glint of metal caught in her sights as she struggled with Daryl for control, the muscles in her arms screaming at her as she tried to push the well-built man down in a mad, sweat soaked struggle, deaf to his wild, unintelligible yells. Shifting from under his form as they rolled over one another, she kicked out at the hand gripping the hunting knife as he tried to swipe at Rick, the blade skidding away from them both as they edged away from the centre of the camp, rolling over a small incline into a ditch of dust and bugs, dirt suddenly engulfing them.

Spitting out a glob of mud, eyes watering as they fought against the abrupt onslaught of sandy dust and an errant branch whipped her face, Jeanie pushed back at Daryl's own shove, her knees bashing painfully against a jutting out rock as they continued to thrash about, ignorant of the insects skittering away around them. The camp was alight at their backs, surrounding the small ditch like some kind of gladiatorial audience with Amy and Glenn trying to push in and get Jeanie out, held back by the others even as they yelled hell and high water for her. Narrowly dodging the sudden swipe to her side that Daryl threw to shove her away, Jeanie pushed downwards with all her might, arms trembling with effort against the stronger force thrusting violently against her.

"— _Get the fuck off me, Jeanie, I'm gonna kill him_ —"

His roar of fury came with a renewed burst of power, and Jeanie clamped down immediately, legs tightening around his torso, finally managing to gain some semblance of control as their arms continued to fight it out, brutal grips bruising each other. Gritting her teeth as he shoved his chest up, shifting her back, she yelled over him, her voice breaking at the strain, " _Stop it, Daryl! Stop it!"_ He gave another vicious push, grunting with rage as she held him in place, starting to move his arms back bit by bit with her level pressure, his legs started to drive against her instead. Feeling his hold beginning to lose grip as he wildly lashed out, she threw herself downwards, face an inch above his as his arms smashed to the ground and she shouted, lungs screaming, " _Remember what you said to me when we met: you gotta do what you gotta do,"_ she paused for but a moment, grip tensing as his eyes sharpened, _"He did what he had to do, Daryl!_ "

He struggled on even as his body started to droop at her words, grunting with exertion, and she continued, her yells drowning out his own, " _Merle's still in Atlanta, on that roof – and we can still get him! We'll go! We can go together and we can get him back, just_ —"She halted, breaths unstable and painful, juttering her chest and lowering her voice, "—Just stop. Please."

A long silence came down upon them. The crowd at their backs stopped moving about, pausing, waiting. Jeanie and Daryl remained still, their breaths mingled hotly, their chests brushing as they gulped in air, gazes locked tightly. After a long pause, Daryl suddenly pushed up again – but slowly this time, sitting him up, shifting Jeanie back slightly, bringing them both to the same level. There was a moment of quiet as he stared at her, silent - and then, without any warning, his face crumpled and he pushed her off, stumbling up and moving to the small incline. She stared after him a moment, struck, her brow dented at the broken grunt he had breathed and the glaze to his eyes before she jumped up after him, quickly following him to where he was already pulling himself up over the dirt.

Swiftly throwing herself up the incline, ignoring the outstretched hands trying to help her, Jeanie kept pace with Daryl, who was striding off to their removed area of tents on the edge of the camp, picking up his knife and crossbow on the way. The crowd that had gathered around them before was now silent, unsure of what to do, struck. They began to disperse somewhat after an uncertain little pause, Rick immediately turning to Lori and initiating a pleading discussion with her, pulling her off to the side as she began to argue, Shane staring after them. Glenn stared after Jeanie and Daryl's disappearing forms, half-listening to Rick's insistence that he help Daryl against Lori and his son's wishes, pulled away eventually by Amy who mumbled for him to give them some privacy.

Jeanie finally caught up to Daryl as he shoved his knife away, reaching his tent, the sounds of life slowly growing back behind them. He stopped suddenly as she halted beside him, her breaths finally coming steadily, ignoring the uncomfortable stickiness of the dust on her sweat-soaked skin as she waited for him to say something.

There was a long silence before he spoke, his voice low and dangerous, "Why do you even goddamn care?"

"Because, Daryl," her answer was immediate, and he turned slightly to her, brow furrowing. She paused a moment before adding, her gaze softening, "I just do."

His eyes met hers and sharpened, the slight glaze that had been there before gone now, wiped away in the moment he had had before she caught up to him. For a moment, he only stared at her – but then, abruptly, he turned away again, pulling his crossbow tighter into himself, and sat down on a collapsed tree trunk beside the burnt patch of ground at the side of their tents, tightening and preparing his weapon. Jeanie stared after him for a moment before turning away, her hands absently coming to rest on her machete as her eyes bored into the empty space of Merle's bottle-strewn tent.

Bringing out a stone, Jeanie sat down across from the utterly silent form of Daryl and began to sharpen her perpetually stained blade, steeling herself for the grim trip ahead.


	10. Chapter 10: Lost and Found

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The group search for Merle, and tensions mount.

Chapter 10 - Lost and Found

Hooking her leg up over the wire fence, carefully avoiding the knife-like, gleaming thorns of barbed wire encircling the top of it, Jeanie shifted, her machete rattling the chains. At her quick nod, Glenn gave her other foot a slight boost as he tried to ignore the grimy stains covering the thick leather of her boot, allowing her to swiftly drop herself to the pavement with a soft thud, her head already automatically flicking around to assess her surroundings. Before her, Rick and a quiet T-Dog let their arms fall, having been ready to catch her if she fumbled, acting as a safety net that she thanked them for even though she had been pulling such moves alone for weeks with only the fading, jagged scar on her arm existing as evidence of a misstep on her part.

Turning, Jeanie stood next to a determined looking Rick, arms twitching up slightly as she saw Glenn pull himself up, a tense Daryl giving him a leg up without being asked, noticing how even Rick had experienced trouble avoiding the barbs atop with his tall legs. As the younger man successfully landed, steadied by a swift arm from each of the three before him as he stumbled slightly on his feet, Daryl immediately hooked his crossbow onto its holster and heaved himself up, swiftly alighting from the fence only a few seconds after him. Normally, they would avoid that particular fence for fear of injuring themselves – even though Daryl wasn't too impressed with it, used to dealing with rather sharp weapons on a daily basis and refusing to allow himself to be bested by some stupid metal piece of shit – but, due to an engorged crowd of walkers down their usual route, they had been forced to divert their plans. This, of course, had frustrated Daryl to no end, as he wished to just run through the crowd of walkers and take down as many of the fuckers as he could before getting his brother the hell out of there.

As Daryl landed, they started on their destination again, carefully scanning their surroundings as they quietly sprinted through the street, wary of a sudden ambush. Reaching the corner of the block and facing no obstruction, they halted for Rick to quickly peek around the corner before moving on, doing this in silence for a while, the only communication between them being in the form of Rick's hand either stopping them or ushering them forward. Sweat dripped from their forms, drenching their clothes and further furrowing their dented brows, suffocating them in the cloying heat and tightening the uncomfortable feeling of being trapped, the city's constant unnerving atmosphere intensifying the underlying dread of reaching the rooftop they were slowly edging their way towards.

After a while of this starting and stopping, they began to near the mall, the walkers surrounding it already starting to disperse in the absence of any attractive prospects of nourishment – or whatever else they ate humans for – leaving but a few lagging corpses dragging themselves around within. It was only a few streets away and in their sights as they diverted down the side alley Glenn had first taken Rick down when they had met, deciding to be cautious about the area. Reaching the large metal door which Morales and T-Dog had flung themselves through to defend Glenn and Rick from a small group of walkers just a day before, the group halted, readying their weapons, listening carefully to the room within for any signs of a mob awaiting them. Finding nothing but an empty, drifting silence from the backroom, Rick swiftly opened the door and led them inside, pistol raised.

Brushing Daryl's side, her machete up even as she knew no walkers awaited them insofar as that room alone, Jeanie gave him a quick glance, finding him even more tense than when they had set out, his muscles twitching as he held his loaded crossbow aloft before him, eyes firmly down its sight. She paused for a moment, gaze almost meeting his before she turned away quickly, shoulders hitching, her mouth closing on her sudden urge to speak words of comfort and reassurance, her legs edging her within.

Fulfilling her earlier promise to Daryl, Jeanie had immediately put herself forth when Rick had stood before the camp, asking them who would assist in the effort to save Merle – faced with little volunteers otherwise. Most of the camp had turned their heads to the side at his request, brows denting as they distracted themselves with menial tasks, trying to ignore the painful silence that had followed Rick's initial rally. After a moment, bringing a resigned sigh to Jackie's lips as she sat to the side, calmly watching the events around her play out as she always did, T-Dog stood, guiltily assigning himself to the expedition. Even as Daryl gave a distinctly unimpressed ' _day just keeps getting better and better, don't it'_ to himself as he sharpened his bolts, a pleading look from Rick – who felt a scowling Shane's glare on the back of his head the whole while – caused Glenn to resignedly acquiesce and reluctantly agree to come along.

The ride into the city had been painful to say the least. Beforehand, Daryl had talked to no-one, firmly ignoring any of the few who had made the effort, scowling down as he blatantly continued to sharpen his weapons, the harsh clang and metallic scrape hitching up the shoulders of all who passed. Once they were all finally ready to leave, Jeanie had sat in the back of the pilfered delivery van they had acquired, Daryl already having thrown himself inside long ago, yelling for everyone else to hurry the fuck up already. Her eyes caught on Rick receiving a tense, gripping kiss on the lips from a thoroughly shook up Lori, returning it quickly and passionately, almost pleadingly, before he was pulled away into a bear-hug by a grim Shane, a handful of bullet shells passed into his grip. Across from them, T-Dog was receiving what looked like a very sombre pep talk from Jacqui, who held his hands in her soft but firm grip, eyes holding his as she quietly and assuredly told him of her belief in him, ending with a soft but passionate kiss.

At these displays of affection, Jeanie turned, eyes hardening, grip on her knees tightening. It was quite foreboding, to say the least, to see such love in physical form, as though it was a desperate attempt to create a pact for the departing man to come back – as though there was an expectation that things would go horribly wrong. This intensified her already gripping tension all the more, to be sure – but, she had to admit, it wasn't all of why she had had to look away. She supposed it was also the clear warmth and care that they all held for one another as they hugged and kissed intimately, gazes locked on them and no one else. There was a sort of bitter, cloying longing that came upon her when confronted with it. She ignored it as best she could.

Before she had walked forward to the van, Glenn quickly patting her on the back as he went to grab something, resignedly telling her he'd see her in a moment, she had stood before the Winnebago, a small group gathered in front. Amy, Andrea, Dale – even Jim at the side of them all, smiling tiredly at her – they all had told her to see them before going. She was about to ask why when Amy had abruptly stepped forward and encircled her in a tight hug.

With a start, her muscles twitching at the sudden contact, Jeanie felt her eyes widen, her arms risen uselessly at her side, caught in Amy's own. After a small pause, her arms slowly ascended, coming up to softly parallel Amy's, her hands gently squeezing her back, quietly murmuring a few soothing words as she let the kind young blonde take a moment.

After a minute or so, Amy eventually began to pull back again, her eyes glinting as she looked up and gave a quiet order, "You be careful out there, okay? And when you get back, we can go fishing in Dale's boat – so you won't have to go out for food again for a while longer. Okay?"

Silent for a moment, her thoughts niggling with the dark, blunt, but undeniably truthful assertion that she shouldn't make promises she couldn't keep, Jeanie gave a shaded nod and a quiet answer, "Okay."

At that, even as her eyes fell slightly with the unwanted knowledge that their whole exchange had simply been a cold comfort of a white lie to herself, Amy moved away, nodding silently with a weak smile. Andrea came forward and gave a small, comforting ruffle to her sister's hair before giving a quick, warm hug to Jeanie, mumbling quiet words wishing her luck, Dale following to affectionately give Jeanie a squeeze on her shoulders, voice low and croaky as he gently told her that he knew she would be fine, that he trusted her to be safe. Jim came forward with his hand raised, cupping Jeanie's own in his strong but warm grip, giving her a handshake and a simple nod, always a man of few words. Releasing her hand, he stepped back away and, giving one last tightening to the strap of her first-aid bag – the thought of being unprepared for the worst not sitting well with her – Jeanie turned with a final, awkward wave, and passed through the mouth of the van.

Turning away from his family, Rick had given Jeanie a strained yet determined smile as he passed her sitting in the van, his kind eyes genuine and warm. Half-heartedly returning it before he continued up the side of the van to sit in the driver's seat, turning on the ignition as T-Dog started up to them, Jeanie felt it fall when he was out of sight. It fell all the more when T-Dog came to a halt before the van for a moment, his nerves obviously abruptly cutting in, before he awkwardly heaved himself in, uncomfortably positioning himself next to Jeanie, his head turned down and his expression dark. Silently glowering, Daryl stared at him for the entire length of the ride with nothing but a warning reaffirmation that if his brother wasn't safe, someone would be paying for it with no small amount of blood. T-Dog just kept silent, the thought in the back of his mind telling him that he would deserve it, too.

Trying to ease himself in the awful quiet, Glenn had abruptly struck up a stunted conversation with Jeanie, who followed along if only to make him feel better, quietly answering his nervous, clipped sentences, eyes drifting across from her every so often, brow dented and hands vaguely fiddling over her fading scar as they so often did in tense situations nowadays. Arriving at the abandoned train-yard at the edge of Atlanta's downtown, they had all but jumped out of the car, Daryl with angry determination, T-Dog with suffocated guilt. Halting the van shabbily at the side of the dusty train-tracks – ain't like nobody gonna be needing a parking space here, as Daryl had scoffed – they all pushed onwards on foot, carefully pushing themselves through the break in the wire fence surrounding the train-yard, agreeing with Rick's inference that they would find Merle before going after his rucksack full of precious guns.

Shutting the metal door quietly behind them with a final glance around, Rick turned to them all in the small side-room in the mall, nodding at them quietly as they stopped for but a moment. Voice low, bringing them bent forward at his side in order to better hear him, he firmly instructed them, "Remember that there'll be stragglers ahead, so don't panic. Stay tight together, keep your weapons ready and don't talk. Take out walkers if they get too close or are in the way – but if you can avoid them, do it. T-Dog, you've got the bolt-cutters?" In response, T-Dog nodded, silently bringing the tool up before them, clipping them together for good measure before stuffing one end back in his belt, Rick continuing, "Right. We do this quickly enough, we can grab those guns and be back at camp in time for dinner." Giving a final, evaluating look to Daryl, who was bouncing on his heels, raring to go, Rick straightened, threw back his shoulders, cocked his gun and finished with a quiet, "Let's go."

They moved out, slipping into the adjoining corridor, ears pricked for nearby walkers. Coming upon a lone one ahead that was facing the other way, wobbling in its spot with a soft groan, Daryl swiftly shot a bolt into its head, yanking it out without pause and continuing on. As they reached the middle of the exposed shopping centre, they came across a few more, but it was nothing they couldn't handle.

Quickly wiping off a streak of black bile, straightening from the downed walker at her feet, Jeanie stepped back into the group, who were scanning around to make sure that was the last one. Only a few steps away, the door to the rooftop lay ajar, exposing the long, spiralling staircase they needed to traverse to reach Merle. With a quick look to each other, all assured that they were finally alone, they quickly crossed over to it, avoiding the scattered shards of glass from when the crowd of walkers had forced their way inside the day before, mouths all straining as the intense stench of the rotting walkers filled their senses.

Feet pounding up the narrow, filthy steps, their breaths coming quick and heavy and their foreheads dripping with sweat at the intense heat within and the exertion of their run, they all remained silent, tense. Daryl had pushed his way to the front, hands skidding over the banister as he pushed forward, powerful legs giving him an edge. He ignored them all, his eyes focussed ahead, sharp and unnerving in their focus.

Jeanie followed closely behind with Rick, the man having a strong endurance culminating from all his years as a police officer. They vaulted up side by side, both carefully staring after Daryl's always quickly disappearing form, the thumps of their boots hitting the cheap plastic steps crowding their thoughts, a shield beginning to form in their minds as they prepared themselves for what lay ahead, stuck with an altogether unshakable sense that nothing good would be waiting for them. Rick's mind lay on the unmistakable dilation of Merle's tripped out gaze when he had handcuffed him to that rusty, creaking pipe, and he couldn't halt the stream of tense thoughts which ravaged over the possibility that the man could have fallen unconscious long ago, choking on his feverish vomit in his sleep and suffocating to death. For her part, Jeanie knew altogether too well the effects of dehydration on the human mind, and, feeling her own tongue scraping as rough as sandpaper against the lid of her mouth in the intense heat of the day, dread welled in her stomach like a hefty weight, slumping her frame even as she continued to sprint towards what was now only a few scarce levels away from them all.

A few moments later, Daryl's footsteps stopped. The tension over them all seemed to tighten as they realised that he had reached the door, and was waiting for them to arrive with the bolt cutters so he could get through. At the back of them all, after a small pause, T-Dog trailed up, brow furrowed and saturated, his abruptly fumbling hands already pulling out the all important tool. It glinted in the leaking sunlight from outside, the door laying slightly ajar even as it was locked in place by the sturdy chain linked around it's handle, offering a tantalising glimpse just past the frame. From there, glancing quickly through the miniscule space as T-Dog bent over and firmly positioned the bolt-cutters, they couldn't see past the corroding mass of metal framework and pipes – and so, when a sudden clank signalled the destruction of the chain, Daryl immediately kicked the now free door outwards, abruptly bathing them all in the baking haze of the Georgian sun.

Without pause, Daryl sprinted forwards, the others immediately following as he shouted out, uncaring of the walkers below who groaned at the noise, "Merle? Merle?" He vaulted over the small, creaking walkway, his voice rising with panic as he reached the other side, "Mer-!"

He stopped. A few steps behind, the others whipped their heads around to where his gaze was suddenly fixed, their legs juttering to a stop. The moan of the dead drowned them all for but a moment before - with an intensity that pulled them back and turned their heads away, squeezing their eyes shut tight and bringing their hands up to press tightly against their shut lids - a horrible, terrible bawl burst forth from Daryl's chest, his crossbow tumbling and lurching away from his grip, his face crumpling, voice reverting back to a child's, desperate and horrified as his cry came forth, " _No! No!"_

Dripping from the blunt saw at the side of the filthy, rusting pipe with a coated pair of locked handcuffs still jangling quietly against it, blood seeped into the ground, pooling in a septic, crimson pool buzzing with flies and maggots.

" _ **No! NO!**_ "

There, lying on the baked, filthy cement, lay Merle's hand.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thought I would catch people on AO3 up with this story - I post most often on FFNet. Hope you enjoy! Leave a comment, if you fancy!


	11. Chapter 11: Ambush

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A plan goes wrong - and Jeanie bears the consequences.

Chapter 11 - Ambush

Carefully edging around a garbage can, sticking her head out first before carrying on, Jeanie vaguely listened to the short conversation at her back.

"—can't have gotten too far, not with that hand _—_ "

"—We'll be findin' out after this, that's for sure."

"Uh, yeah, I mean _—_ "

"—Don't bitch, kid."

"I wasn't going to, I just _—!_ "

Only a few minutes ago, they had sat in a small, abandoned office block beside the shopping mall. Crouched together on some shoddy cardboard boxes they had found, sitting in a circle around Glenn's shaky little scrawl of Atlanta on the filthy, blood-streaked linoleum, a furious discussion had taken place. Finger jabbing at the wobbily doodle that had been birthed from a half-empty permanent marker Glenn had reluctantly removed from a pool of black bile, Daryl had adamantly argued for continuing the search for his brother – shut down quickly by the rest when they shot back the need for Rick's illustrious bag of guns. Jeanie had remained relatively quiet, listening neutrally at the side and only contributing when there was a need for it. Her eyes flicked over to Daryl every so often, finding his hard, resolute gaze determinedly glancing over the makeshift street map, his striking confidence bursting back as he helped plan out their next move.

There still remained a tension from the rooftop. After a long, horrible pause, Daryl's awful screams echoing away down the shadowy, stinking streets of Atlanta, the powder keg had suddenly blown. Whipping around, sticking his crossbow in a defeated looking T-Dog's immediately still face, Daryl had barely recognised Rick's instant rebuttal with his pistol, his low, dangerous assertion that he would not pause in pulling the trigger halting them all. A long pause passed by, shaking their lungs, sweating their brows, twitching their muscles as they all stared at the wild-eyed man - before Daryl suddenly pushed his crossbow away like nothing had happened, turning away and starting the hunt for his brother all over again without pause, ignoring them all. It had been disconcerting, to say the least. At some moments, Jeanie had silently considered saying something to him, to ask him how he was – but, then she reminded herself that of course he wouldn't be. He wouldn't be okay until they found his brother. And that was just the way it was.

Having ended up in that small, depressing little office that Merle had stopped in to determinedly cauterise his dire wound, a walker rotting off to the side, ignored by them all, they had all eventually agreed to find Rick's bag before going after Merle. The next topic of debate was how to approach the glaring problem groaning endlessly just a few levels down from them. Rick explained to Daryl and T-Dog that his panicked shooting upon arrival in the city had attracted a mob of undead, engorged in size all the more when his horse had went down, braying in desperation as it was torn apart, blood spluttering everywhere as he narrowly escaped into an abandoned military tank. They still remained there, right where they needed to get to – and their options for removing them were altogether disheartening.

They had pondered on setting off a distraction in another street to direct their attention elsewhere, but this idea was quickly shot down for fear of becoming separated from each other and trapped between crowds – the suggestion of simply going in as a group, smashing into anything that came in their way also abandoned swiftly when it was realised that they would likely just attract more walkers than were already there. Glenn had tentatively suggested that they wait a while longer before trying their hand but was shut down by Rick, who was firm in his assertion that they needed to be back sooner rather than later.

Frankly, things were looking quite grim for their quest for that bag of guns when Jeanie had abruptly shifted forward on her seat, straightened her shoulders up straight and steadily affirmed to them all, "I'll do it."

They stopped. After a moment's pause, they turned and looked at her, silent. Then, without hesitation, Rick asked her, "What do you have in mind?"

"Running in and running out. That's all."

Her blunt reply quirked his eyebrow up, his head coming back slightly as he remained silent. Shifting in his seat to better face her, he straightened, his pistol jingling at his side as he quietly asked, "That's all?"

She paused for a moment, lips nearly lifting up in a tired smile at his expression before she quashed it, nodding seriously, "I think we've come to the conclusion that there's nothing we can do to get the biters out of the way without taking a great risk – and what's the point in risking all of us when we can just risk me instead?"

Abruptly, Glenn spluttered at her side, head shaking madly, "You can't go out there alone – you could get trapped-"

"—If we all go in, we could _all_ get trapped, Glenn," she informed him grimly. He shut his mouth, brow denting, and she sighed inwardly to herself as she bluntly asserted, "You're best at these streets, but I'm quickest - you know it's true. I can get in to the guns, and you can all stand by at separate streets – in case I get cut off and have to run back down the alleyway at the side of the old candy shop. If I run in, grab the bag and get back without being nabbed by one of them, we can," her eyes flicked across to the still, silent form of Daryl, "find Merle and be back in time for dinner."

There was another long pause filled with quick glances between them all, the men's eyes flickering to her steady gaze and determined expression before Rick had nodded, "Let's do it."

Having split off from Rick and T-Dog a minute ago, a firm pat on her shoulder from them both along with a comforting assertion that they'd be right there at the side waiting for her, Jeanie had taken Glenn and Daryl down the opposite alleyway, the two men carefully keeping an eye on their backs in case they were cut off. As they carefully moved forward, the droaning groans of the walkers grew all the more louder, pushing past the usual background noise they had become, piercing their ears and edging their muscles up. The sun beat down on them still, agitating them all, glinting off of Jeanie's machete as she carefully brought it up to stab at a supposedly empty box - sending a filthy rat skittering away, grime and mites flying off of it as it gave an indignant stream of shocked squeaks at being disturbed so rudely.

Quietly, for fear of the nearby walkers hearing, Glenn spoke, nervously adjusting his baseball cap as another rat sprinted by them, jarring his shoulders for a moment, "I just hope Merle doesn't do anything too – drastic."

Jeanie could make out the underlying fear there – that Merle would stumble back to camp and unleash his fury on the unsuspecting populace therein. She had paused on that thought, too, to be honest. Although she didn't think the man psychotic – just a douchebag, as Shane had so eloquently stated back at camp – the effects of heavy drugs paired with massive dehydration, heatstroke and pure, primal rage were not to be underestimated. With that toxic concoction in a man, anything could happen – none of it good. The very possibility pushed her slightly faster, her boots quietly nudging detritus aside as she looked ahead, mouth thinning, brow furrowing.

"That's enough for now, Short Round," Daryl's quiet reply came forth, paired with the distinct knock of his crossbow rising further up his shoulder as they neared the end of the alley they were walking down, "gettin' into geek territory, now." There was a slight pause as Jeanie came to a stop before them, head peeking out quickly to survey how big a crowd she would be facing, her expression hidden from them as Daryl walked forward and nodded to her, whispering a steady, "You ready?"

She turned back to face them, nodding, her shoulder bending back and her neck stretching as she carefully bent her legs up and down, warming them up for the harsh sprint ahead. Her expression was now firmly calm, her unwavering gaze framed by her level brow as she quickly shoved her machete away, needing her hands ready for the mad, frantic hustle ahead. There was a slight pause as she prepared to go, Glenn already at her side, growing even more tense as he looked out to the street, a borrowed wrench from Dale in his dusty hands, ready to hold off any walkers that tried to creep up Jeanie's back. He would stop about halfway up the street from her to keep her way back as clear as possible, Daryl remaining where he was, in a good corner well-suited to keeping an eye on all of the streets branching off around them.

This agreed upon plan in mind, Jeanie stilled her abrupt shoot of adrenaline, forcing her thoughts to sharpen, her hands juttering slightly with the rush as she gave a grim little smile to Daryl, nodded again, and swiftly shot down the street without looking back.

Her strong legs pounded down the cement, her boots clattering slightly – far quieter than they had previously been after she had messed around with the soles' thickness and had gotten some practice at withholding the balance of her feet. She bent over on herself slightly, lowering herself below the eyeline of the average walker as she slowed a bit, halting to crouch at the side of a rusting heap of a car, a decaying remnant of its previous owner frozen inside. The stench of the rotting undead was overwhelming as she neared the center of their mass, bathing her in their collective decay - but she had learned to ignore it somewhat, forcing her breaths to come steadier and more focused through her mouth rather than her much abused nose. It was hard to do as her lungs pushed harshly against her chest, the paired tension of her muscles and the abrupt exertion shocking them.

She took a moment, waiting a mere second for a walker to stumble out of her path before she continued, Glenn remaining where he was, his soft whisper of 'good luck' barely audible to her as she hurried onwards. Nearing the end of the block, the tank Rick had told her of was now becoming visible, previously obscured by the pulsating mob of walkers who tumbled over one another, feet dragging uselessly over the bloodied, baking asphalt. At the side of it, a glint of steel in the sunlight flashed up the bag of precious guns, with a striking little cowboy hat to match, which would've made her smile had she not spotted a walker suddenly sniff the air and turn in her direction.

Mouth tightening, brow furrowing steadily, Jeanie decided that it was time to go all out – and promptly stopped holding back by immediately sprinting forward with a burst of reserved energy, boots now echoing down the streets and turning up more heads to her direction. She could hear the walker that was sniffing the air now moaning at her back, his quiet shuffles coming her way as she skidded to the small gap next to the tank, grabbed the bag and hat without pause, and instantly vaulted back down the way she had come. They would have to get the hell out of there, she realised grimly as she came back to Glenn's view, her form straightening as she all-out ran back to him, sweat dripping unreservedly from her dangerous brow, her eyes screaming soundlessly at Glenn to stand and start back.

Just before she reached him, he started off, leading her on as the walkers began to slowly creep up, the mob's groans starting to hitch, a scent catching on their senses and rustling through the crowd, pushing her faster and masking the strange, warning rustle just ahead. Which was very unlucky for her, she realised abruptly as she came to a halt, finding Daryl and Glenn on the floor, being beaten with metal bats.

At the sound of her footsteps halting beside them, one of the chubbier men looked up, giving a surprised start at her sudden appearance and the load she carried - but then, without even a second thought, instincts screaming madly at her, Jeanie immediately brought her hand up into a fist, vaulted forward, and smashed it into the side of his face, shoving him off of Glenn. The man was launched into the wall opposite, his skull hitting the filthy bricks with a painful sounding crack that echoed down the alleyway, shocking him for the second that Jeanie needed to pull her leg up and shoot it firmly into the second man's crotch, abruptly halting his shocked cries with her steel toe-capped boots.

Ignoring the awful screech of the man as he crumpled to the ground, she whipped back around to the first man who Glenn was now struggling with against the wall, her hands jumping for her machete to help him as she heard Daryl struggle up at her side, her throat straining as she screamed, " _ **RICK-!"**_

Her yell was immediately halted by what she guessed was a garbage can lid crashing into the side of her head from the hands of a third man she hadn't seen, sending her face smashing into the side of one of the giant dumpsters, knocking her off to the side, blood splattering from her nose and gushing down her throat as her machete clattered loudly to the ground. Her shoulders slumped and the bag of guns edged down her arm as her senses slipped violently, sounds of the struggles and furious cries around her melding together into a jumble of shouts and her vision lapsing with a jutter as a foot suddenly crashed into her chest, knocking all of the air out of her lungs and spewing up a glob of the blood that was stuck in her throat.

A holler of, " _The guns!",_ filled her screeching ears as she tumbled backwards, a pair of powerful arms grabbing hold of her by the waist and wrenching her up, away from the battle even as her limbs came back to life and wildly lashed out, her crimson-stained teeth snapping up and taking hold of some unknown sliver of flesh, a panicked yell bursting forth from the man at the clench of her jaw. Before she could do any damage, however, what she assumed was Glenn's now stolen wrench smashed into the back of her head, immediately breaking her hold, a pained cry escaping her bruised lips, blood leaking down her scraped chin, rending her limp in the tightened grip of the man she had so viciously attacked. The bag of guns finally passed the threshold of her bent elbow at the impact, and they crashed to the ground with an awful, metallic clang, the funny little hat that Jeanie had smiled at flying out to the grimy floor, dented by a stray foot.

" _Hel-"_

Her weak cry was barely audible, her lungs already having been pushed with her hard sprint up the street - where a howling mass of walkers was now growing steadily more riled, their forms shuffling over one another to the incoherent mess of noises the fight was creating. Her head spun, moaning tiredly at her to stop, to just give in to the obviously stronger pair of arms crushing her ribs and squeezing her harsh breaths to the brink, chest shuddering violently with effort. Abruptly, in the jumble of wild noises, footsteps started to pound down the alley, signalling the imminent arrival of Rick and T-Dog – but, at the sound, another panicked shout from their attackers came forth, " _Take her! Let's get the fuck outta here!"_

Shouts from voices she recognised washed over one another, a tidal wave of unintelligible noises, her eyes struggling to remain open even as she feebly continued to fight back, her hands scratching out at anything they could, quaking voice shouting out muddled, wild cries. The man holding her turned, jerking with a yell as something hit him with violent force, his horrified cry of _"My ass!_ " ripping through Jeanie's nauseatingly off-balance ears, his crushing arms loosening for but a moment. A car suddenly screeched to a halt beside them, tired squealing, and she was hoisted up further before she could take advantage of his distraction - the man instantly running forward and hastily shoving her inside, her leather jacket catching on the handle and giving her a moment to punch out at him before a hand shot out from inside and pulled her within, the door slamming shut behind her immediately.

Her furious yells were edging up in desperation and volume even as her throat started to give out at the abuse, muffled by the door as the hands fought and pulled against her, her legs kicking out behind her as she clawed at the filthy glass, the door locked firmly against her struggles. Even as her vision swam, she could see Daryl sprint forward, loading his crossbow, shouting furiously for her, face twisted in anger and a rare glimpse of panic, Glenn struggling in the background with a smaller man. Fist slamming the window, she managed to land a solid kick at the person behind as the engine roared to life, the tires screeching and renewing her cries as a second pair of hands shot forward and pulled her back with force.

" _ **Help, DARYL, HEL-**_ "

A final strike to the back of her head smashed her face against the glass, and her scream died on her lips.

Finally, Jeanie succumbed to the encroaching darkness, the desperate cries and outstretched hands of Daryl Dixon fading to black.

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, hope you enjoyed - leave a comment if you have the time!


	12. Chapter 12: Vatos, Ese, Cabron

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Daryl and the group take matters into their own hands.

Chapter 12 - Vatos, Ese, Cabron

With a harsh, clanging thud, Daryl shoved the furiously yelping young man he gripped tightly by the arm into a trio of sharp-edged filing cabinets, his fist immediately following up to slam into the shocked face opposite him with a resounding crack.

As the shorter man stumbled back, a burst of blood gushing from his nose, a string of Spanish curses pouring from his panicked lips, Daryl swiftly stepped forward, ready to deliver another powerful blow – before a pair of arms grabbed his own and pulled him back, another set of limbs soon following to weigh him back from the nameless youngster he was furiously shouting at, a jumble of yells and mad bellows filling the small office block, deafening them all.

" _Daryl, stop—"_

"— _This little bastard's holmie friends took Jeanie - right out my fuckin' hands! I'm gonna break your fuckin' neck, you_ _ **little piece of shit**_ _—_ "

A wild tussle broke out as the other men struggled to pull Daryl back as he lunged forward again, legs kicking out violently when his arms were halted, his boots landing a few solid shots before he was finally pulled away, his breaths coming short and heavy as he continued to shout, eyes fixed solely on the man across from him. With a sharp, ' _Daryl, we need to keep calm_ ' from a tense Rick, Daryl eventually quietened, viciously punting a glob of spit in the young boy's direction as he fell still. There was a long silence filled only with the sound of the younger man's harsh curses, his eyes darting about between them all as he looked for a gap to run out of – finding none, as the men all clustered together tightly, firmly blocking his exit as they stared at him with heavy eyes.

Eventually, eyes narrowed sharply, Rick moved away from Daryl, gaze flicking over them all as he asked firmly, not wasting any more time, "What happened down there?"

This time, it was Glenn who spoke up, nursing a rapidly forming black eye and holding his sleeve up to his burst lip, words almost hitching at some points, anxious panic tightening his frame, "These guys just turned up out of nowhere, Rick, I didn't even see it coming – when I got back, they were beating the crap out of Daryl," he paused, wincing sharply as his fingers gingerly probed at his shadowed cheek, "then they got me, too."

Frowning darkly at this, Rick turned to him, voice low, "Then they took Jeanie?"

"Yes." Glenn looked away, eyes squeezing tightly shut as he shifted back, a hand coming to rub at his temple, his voice breaking, "— _Fuck._ They _took her_."

At this, Daryl gave an enraged grunt, his dominating form restless and edgy as he paced quickly though the room, wild eyes remaining on the man at all times. Sighing heavily, a low curse escaping his lips, Rick turned fully to the fidgeting elephant in the room, who had now decided that if he was going to be forced into his little corner, he would at least be sitting, and asked him bluntly, "Why'd you attack us."

A scoff came forward from the man, who settled back, his neck already blooming plentiful bruises, "We came to get those fuckin' guns, man. That stupid hick _pendejo_ attacked _me_ first. His psycho girlfriend socked me right in mouth, crazy bitch!"

Daryl laughed darkly at that, a feral grin stretching his mouth, "Damn straight, she got you fucks good. She's tough as shit when she wants to be – could kick all your fuckin' asses up and down the street."

Scowling, the boy gave a sharp reply, "Well, she didn't, did she? Felipe got her! Bet you're all fuckin' shitting yourselves now, huh?" He gave a sharp bark of laughter, "If it was me with her now, I'd be placin' a fuckin' bullet right in her head. Bitch."

Silent for a moment, eyes flicking away to look at Daryl, who gritted his teeth, brow sharpening as his muscles twitched dangerously, Rick turned back to the boy, eyes steady and subversively calm, "We have the guns," the boys' eyes flicked over to where T-Dog was carefully placing the all-important bag of weapons onto a grimy desk, his lips twisting and his gaze taking on a insolent sort of gleam as he crossed his arms, Rick continuing, "Your people have our friend." He shook his head, grim, "That's not a fair trade, now, is it." No reply came at that, the boy steadily looking up, impertinent as he was before, silent. Shoulders straightening, form rising, Rick narrowed his gaze, voice rising sharply in volume, "Where have they taken her?"

Another long, tense silence followed. The sounds of the riled dead outside howled through the cracked, filthy windows, ignored by them all as they drowned in their harsh breathing, sweat dripping from their brows at the utter stillness of the room. The boy stared up at them beneath his shadowed brow, eyes gleaming, mouth twisted still, gaze twitching over to the guns every few seconds, where they sat glinting in the harsh sunlight.

Finally, mouth turning up into a crude grin, the boy answered, "I ain't tellin' you a goddamn thing, _cabron_."

Suddenly, Daryl pounced forwards, kicking a desk out of the way with a powerful shot of his tensed leg, arms immediately grabbing the front of the abruptly wide-eyed boy and shoving him back into the filing cabinets again, his furious roar ripping through the room, " _You got a goddamn deathwish, kid? Huh, you fuckin' moron?!"_

Yelping out madly, hands desperately trying to push Daryl's strong grip away, the boy shouted in panic, his head juttering back and forth, " _Man, G'll kill me if I tell you, I can't—"_

"— _ **I'll**_ _kill you if you_ _ **don't**_ _– want to take your fuckin' chances?"_

" _I can't, man, I can't!_ " His eyes darted around to the other men – who stood silently to the side, watching, making no move to intervene this time. After another failed attempt at getting the boy to talk, Daryl gave a resounding slap to his head, shoving him backwards again and let him slide down to the floor as he stormed swiftly off to the other men. Watched the whole while by the anxiously waiting boy, he grabbed hold of a confused Glenn's rucksack, rummaged quickly within, and removed something without a word, moving away. Swiftly whipping around, unwrapping the foreboding, lumpy object, he kept silent – before, quite abruptly, he dropped the filthy rag to the floor and threw the thing at the boy.

Giving an awful screech, mouth flapping madly open as the rotten, disgustingly stiff remains of Merle's blood-streaked hand rolled into his lap, the boy keeled in desperation, kicking the fly-covered thing away with a horrified cry. Seizing his chance, Daryl grabbed a hold of him again, his voice taking a sinister edge as it lowered dangerously, his eyes darkening, "Kept that as a souvenir from the last stupid fucker who messed with me. Wonder what I'll take this time?" The boy's lip wobbled a bit, his eyes darting back and forth between Daryl and the hand, prompting Daryl to shift back slightly, a hand moving away to slowly withdraw his gleaming hunting knife as he shrugged, voice lowering all the more, "S'ppose I'll just go with whatever looks like it's most _important—_ "

"— _Fine,_ _please, okay, I'll take you there, okay?! Just –_ _ **please don't cut my fuckin' hand off!**_ "

At that desperate cry, Daryl dropped the utterly panicked boy with an abrupt release of his hand. Not listening to the quiet grunt of pain he gave as he fell to the filthy floor, Daryl turned, pulling out his crossbow and loading it up as Rick walked forward without a word, eyes on the now silent boy slumped against the disgusting floor on all fours, holding back a harsh retch as he caught sight of Merle's abandoned limb across from him.

Finished loading his crossbow, Daryl stood up, eyes sharp and blazing as he looked right into Rick's own even gaze, voice as coarse as gravel as he stated lowly, utterly serious, "If they've touched her at all – I don't care what you say." He shook his head, lip pulling back in a snarl, "I'm not gonna stop."

Shaking his head, Rick slowly unsheathed his pistol, cocked the safety off, and gave a dark twitch of his lips, "Trust me. If they have – I won't stop, either."

* * *

Guillermo didn't look that tough.

That was all Daryl could think of as he sized up the relatively unassuming man, who looked out at them all as they stopped before him, their young, nervous prisoner up front, their weapons still drawn and at the ready even as they were faced with the business end of many ugly stares from the crowd of well-built men packed within the shadowed, obscured room behind him. Although the man looked cool and collected, holding up a hand to stop any of his people moving forward as he silently evaluated Rick, flanked by his mass of muscle, there was an underlying air of tension about him – he wasn't as unaffected as he liked to seem. He was nervous. That was good, Daryl thought. He should be.

Silence dragged in as they finally halted, their lingering footsteps ringing around the still, grimy looking compound. Glenn twitched nervously at his side, Jeanie's machete weighing heavily in his uncertain grip, his bruised eye flickering around as he took in the huge, brawny mob before them, his sweat speckled brow furrowing. The boy – 'Miguel', he had told them weakly upon inquiry on their way there – was twitching about, gaze darting back and forth from Guillermo to the ground, his frame hunched.

Abruptly, Rick's voice rang out, clear and steady, "You Guillermo?"

The man met his eyes, gave a slow nod, and countered calmly, "You the guy who took my bag of guns?"

There was a pause. The mob behind Guillermo fidgeted about for a moment, cricking their necks, twitching their muscles. Eventually, a dark frown turning down his lips, his head shifting slightly back, Rick quietly gave a reply, "You're mistaken."

Sighing lightly, Guillermo shrugged, lips turning down, "No point lying now. My boys saw you take it–"

"–No." Rick shook his head firmly, eyes darkening, "You're mistaken. Because it's _my_ bag of guns."

Another long, tense silence followed his echoing declaration as it bounced round the broken bricks and dusty cement, ushering off a few scavenging birds from their posts, their ruffling feathers overlapping as they sprang off. The brawny men glared out at them, their fists curling, teeth gritting. Eyes flicking over to them, Daryl sharpened his gaze, his crossbow rising slowly up in his hands, finger at the ready.

Back straightening a tad, Guillermo flashed them a frown, "You know, seems to me like you're missing someone." They twitched at that, watching him carefully, "See, thing is, we just found a girl, only a little while ago. Real pretty," Rick's shoulders hitched somewhat at that, Daryl's lip curling, Glenn's face draining and his stomach turning with a nauseous flip, "She almost stuck a cap in my head with her little pistol – real quick, too. But she didn't quite manage it. She's all alone with my dogs, now – and, you know, they've not eaten in a while. That ain't good, is it." He shook his head, "Not at all. How about you give me over _Miguelito_ and the bag of guns – and we fix that, huh, _vatos?_ "

Rick's steady gaze weighed down, a single droplet of sweat travelling down his temple, dripping down his cheek, before he replied firmly, "You have one of ours; we have one of yours. One exchange – and that'll be it done."

"Nah."

Guillermo's immediate response and firm shake of his head forced a panicked keel from Miguel, who fidgeted nervously in his spot, Daryl's crossbow nudging his shoulder steadily as he stuttered out a pleading, "Come on G, man, please–! "

"–What's to stop me from getting my boys on you all right now." Rick furrowed his brow, gaze tensing as Guillermo continued, his voice low, "Stick a bullet in each of your heads, take the guns – feed your girl to my hounds?"

The men behind him lifted their weapons, a rhythmic cocking of guns sounding at Guillermo's side – prompting Daryl to settle his aim on the nearest man, Glenn quickly raising Jeanie's machete up, catching the eye of another man to the side of the one Daryl aimed for, who gaped at the dangerous gleam of it.

Rick, however, didn't move. The shotgun he had smoothly removed from the bag, filled to the brim with shells and just begging to be shot didn't shift at all in his steady grip – and, as he met Guillermo's even gaze, he gave a harsh smile. At Guillermo's raised brow, he nodded once, cricked his neck lightly, and spoke, "You could do that," he shifted his gaze pointedly away, "Or not."

Pausing for a moment, shoulders tensing as his senses grew tight with alarm, Guillermo turned away – only to find himself firmly in the sights of T-Dog, who was sat amongst a pile of collapsed bricks, a low, broken wall having hidden him from their view before as he set up the all-important shot on Guillermo's temple with a sniper rifle Rick had handed over to him with a grim instruction to get ready for the worst. Frowning, Guillermo fell quiet, turning slowly away, eyes dark. It seemed as though they had shown their hand at the right moment – perhaps he would cave, and they could all get the hell out of there. T-Dog hoped so: his nerves shaking, his thoughts screaming for the man to just agree already, to let them all go.

Of course, it wasn't that easy. With a piercing ' _Ojey!_ ' and a click of his fingers, Guillermo summoned a pair of his goons out to the rooftop – with a struggling Jeanie in tow, her head covered by a black sack.

Daryl sucked in a breath, his finger twitching, just asking to pull against his trigger. They could all see, even from there, the bruises forming on her skin – from their earlier brawl or afterwards, it was impossible to tell for all the chaos of the last hour – and a distinct limp hindered her left leg, nearly tripping her over. One of the men roughly grabbed her before she fell, forcing her up and furrowing Daryl's brow all the more, as they eventually pulled her across to the edge of the roof and removed the sack, revealing her disheveled mop of hair, her wild eyes darting about as she tried to pull away from them. Only when her feet nearly slipped away off the edge with her struggles did she jump back into a kind of acquiescence, struck by the sudden height she was at, denting her brow. When her swift eyes landed on them, all of them staring back up at her, tense, she stopped altogether, a choked sound coming out muffled against the masking tape slapped harshly across her mouth, sweat clinging to her scalp as she let loose an indistinct cry.

At that, unable to take another of her awful cries, Rick spoke, all pretense of being civil utterly vanished to be replaced with a dark fury which laced his gritted words, "I'm giving you one last chance, Guillermo. We don't want to hurt you or your people, but if you don't let Jeanie go...we _will_ kill you." Rick paused for a moment to burn his hardened gaze into Guillermo's own, voice growing with rage with every punched word to pass his lips, "Every last one of you."

That seemed to spark something in Guillermo, who stopped, eyes suddenly growing with a kind of fire that hadn't been there before, frame stiffening, mouth twisting into a sharp sneer. Above them, Jeanie watched in silence, held still by the crushing grip of her captors, her wild eyes fixed on them, Glenn and Daryl flicking their eyes up to look at her every few seconds, muscles tensing at her heaving chest and shaking leg. A long silence passed, nobody daring to break it on either side.

Then, finally, Guillermo quietly, firmly told them, "You come back here with Miguel and my guns," his eyes darkened, "Or you come back locked and loaded. And then we see which side spills the most blood."

With that, the man gave Rick one final, burning glare – and then, without another word, he clicked his fingers, twitched his head, and disappeared with his men into the compound, the creaking screech of the rusty metal door crashing shut after him echoing around them. The two goons on the roof made to move again, and, as Jeanie felt them shift, she gave one final, indistinct cry to them, her gaze meeting them all individually for a split second – then, in the blink of an eye, her head was covered again, and she was gone.

There was an awful pause as they stared up at the spot she had so swiftly been pulled from. Glenn let loose a shaky breath, his chest hitching, eyes squeezing tightly shut. Rick gave a dark grimace, his shotgun falling as his shoulders slumped heavily. Daryl scowled, his eyes blazing, his thoughts lingering on the fleeting, desperate look in Jeanie's gaze, his muscles twitching. Eventually, Rick looked up, giving a swift nod to T-Dog to meet them down the street as they had planned, Daryl taking a crushing grip of Miguel's limp arm, finding some dark satisfaction in his grunt of pain as they quickly strode away, ears pricked for any walkers they might have attracted with their noise. Their faces all twisted in different expressions as they swiftly exited – fury, worry, nausea – but one thing passed universally around them in their glances towards each other: they weren't giving up those guns...but they _would_ get Jeanie.

Guillermo, Daryl thought grimly, had better get ready for the fight of his fuckin' life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! Leave a comment if you fancy.


	13. Chapter 13: Night Terrors

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As one thing goes right, another goes wrong.

Chapter 13 - Night Terrors

Ignoring the sharp reflection of a sun beam as it bounced off of a dusty shell of a car and pierced his narrowed gaze, Daryl tightened his grip on Jeanie's waist, legs pounding forward without halt.

She had stumbled a bit earlier, still unsteady on her limp. As the group sprinted back to the camp, muscles tensed, dread building up in all of them after the realisation that their missing van was likely linked to Merle – a very, _very_ angry Merle – Jeanie had kept pace as best she could, her injury partially forgotten by them in their panic and rushed exchanges. It was only after she had suddenly tripped, nearly tumbling to the dirt and just barely caught in time by Daryl's lightning quick reflexes that they all guiltily remembered, gathering around her, taking another look at it, asking her if she was alright.

At her exhausted reassurance that she was fine – she'd be okay to walk, they could carry on, they had to get back – Daryl had moved forward without a word, not listening to her bullshit for a moment, and carefully pulled up her good arm with a surprising gentleness, hooking it around his neck and pulling her close to his side, a gruff ' _haul ass, people_ ' thrown over his shoulder at the surprised crowd as he immediately continued onwards. After a short, silent pause, the rest had booted back up and followed quickly behind, postures straightening, their quick footsteps punting up clouds of sand, brows furrowing deeply once more.

* * *

It had been an admittedly quite funny thing, the cause of Jeanie's lingering injury. The minutes before they found it out, things hadn't been so amusing to anyone, to say the least – their small group standing in front of a crowd at least ten times their size, dozens upon dozens of bats, pipes and bricks at the ready to maim and rip them apart. Guillermo's fuming expression had darkened Daryl's gaze, twisting his lip as he turned back away to a man with a large kitchen knife, narrowing his gaze as the unassuming man spoke, a tenseness to his low words, "...What's this?"

Rick didn't waver in his position at the front of them all, his shotgun positioned and aimed with an expertly steady hand, an intense, dangerous answer coming forth from his tightened form, "You said to come back locked and loaded," his lips twisted, " _we did_."

There was a long silence. The men at the back tensed, ruffling about, a few whispered grunts slithering out in a sinister crawl through their ranks. Glenn, at Daryl's side, nearly trembled, but pulled back his fear enough to stand his ground, Jeanie's machete gleaming in his unprepared grip. T-Dog was opposite the both of them, closest to Rick, Miguel before him with a gun pressed reluctantly to his back.

Nobody dared speak. Then, quite abruptly, eyes sharpening, Guillermo boldly stated, "I'm gonna chop your girl up." They all gritted their teeth, gazes flashing, "I'm gonna take all the little bits of her and feed them to my dogs. Big fuckin' things, they are...hungry, too!" He paused for a moment, a strange kind of energy seeming to possess him as he added hastily, "You know what else I'll do?" He nodded at Rick, gaze darkening, expression slowly losing its energy, "I'll takethose guns off of you myself."

No more words were spoken at that point – a line had been crossed. Miguel gave a lone, static whimper, head shaking madly, limbs shaking, T-Dog's face pulling into a grimace as he tightened his grip on his gun, eyes flickering about. A flurry of guns cocking and sliding knifes clicking into place filled the suffocating, dense air, tautening the already high-strung mass of anger and simmering fury. A mob of men prepared to bite, kick, stab and shoot each other to death for a bag of guns and a lone woman.

And then, quite abruptly, a grandmother walked in.

The man that Daryl had shot in the ass – he would smirk at the memory if it wasn't for the little old lady currently waddling up into his line of sight – suddenly straightened, his knife abruptly lowering, a stunted curse escaping his lips. Eyes widening, a twinge of some naked emotion running through his expression, 'Felipe' – if the lady's shouts were anything to go by – jumped into action, immediately rounding on the ignorant little woman, a panicked ' _Abuela-!_ ' ignored by her as she continued to speak to him, a distracted and not quite all there glaze to her eyes. Rick narrowed his gaze, eyes meeting Guillermo's. The other man was wavering very visibly, gaze flickering back and forth, his shoulders wrought so tight they looked like they would snap.

"Don't you take Felipe!"

Snapping his head up, Rick was struck for a moment. The little old lady had suddenly noticed him, it seemed, her unsteady old gaze strengthening somewhat as she fixed him with a stern sort of look. He paused for a moment before slowly lowering his gun, throwing a quick glance at a flinching Guillermo before turning to her fully with a careful, "Ma'am?"

She moved forward out of Felipe's panicked grip, deaf to his strained calls, "Felipe is good boy. He have his problems before with the gangs, but he fix them. He is good boy, good grandson. He cares for people here – don't take him away."

A silence followed her words. Finally, gaze softening, voice lowering, Rick answered with as gentle a voice as any of the men had ever heard him use, "I won't take him away, Ma'am. Don't worry."

The room abruptly relaxed. What followed was an uncomfortable sort of stillness, however, as people waited to see what would happen next, suddenly hesitant gazes fixed on the exchange. The little old lady nodded with satisfaction at Rick's answer, a pleased sounding hum coming from her as Felipe softly walked up behind, a hand gently grasping her shoulder, his gaze nervously glancing over at Rick. At this, Rick stopped his intense evaluation of a steadfastly silent Guillermo and looked back to the woman, stooping over from his tall height to address her quietly, "You can actually help me, Ma'am. We're looking for a missing person: a young woman wearing a leather jacket, with a scar up her cheek."

The woman's face lit up in recognition, "You mean that nice young girl, _Janey?_ " Rick nodded quickly, lips tightening, prompting a further explanation from _Abuela,_ who smiled with a dazy sort of warmth at the thought of the younger woman, "She with Mr Gilbert!" The men straightened, Glenn's face brightening hugely, a held back sigh turning his head about to them all, a relieved smile breaking out on his face. Daryl loosened a bit, arms cautiously pulling down, crossbow pointing away, his expression still wary. Rick, smiling after a moment, nodded at her, and she nodded back, a frail old arm coming out to softly take a grip of his hand, Rick moving closer and gently holding her as she told him, "I take you to her."

With a soft nudge, she took him through a side door previously hidden by the mass of muscle guarding it, her slippers softly padding over the floor as she led them outside. From there, they went down a corridor – and were met with the tired, frail faces of at least a hundred grandparents. Rick halted for a moment, eyes sharpening, face draining before he continued, the old lady still pulling him slowly along. The rest of the men trailed behind – Miguel having been left with the other gang of muscle – their expressions struck, brows raised, eyes wide. Eventually, they reached what looked like the main hall of what had quickly become apparent was some kind of hospital for elderly people. In it, a small crowd of hushed, stooped over ladies and gentlemen surrounded the middle, parting ways for the new group to move in – only to find Jeanie standing there, completely fine as she softly patted the back of a coughing man.

At their heavier footsteps, Jeanie looked up for a moment, flashed them a comforted smile, and then unceremoniously went back to what she was doing, mumbling some gentle words to the gentlemen as he held her hand, trying to calm his breathing. At her feet sat some small Chihuahuas, nudging against her legs with soft yips – the dreaded hounds Guillermo had spoken of. Daryl couldn't contain his scoff. As Felipe moved forward to help Mr Gilbert, asking Jeanie to move with a soft mumble, she complied, giving a final pat to the man, standing aside, turning to them all fully with a soft, "Hi."

A silence came over them. Her brow dented slightly, unsure, her mouth already coming open to say something else – when Glenn abruptly moved forward and enveloped her in a hug with a strained sort of relieved groan escaping his lips and muffling in her shoulder. It was somewhat clumsy and totally unexpected, his gesture, but it stopped her with a smile well enough, and she returned it after a moment, a gentle grin lifting up her chapped lips as she looked around at them all and Glenn sighed heavily, sounding tired. When he moved away, Rick flashed her a deeply relieved smile that promised he would speak to her in a moment before he pulled Guillermo off to another room, T-Dog following, leaving the two youngsters and Daryl alone. Looking away from Glenn, who watched her with some guilt still bubbling in his stomach at her having been taken instead of him, Jeanie flashed Daryl an awkward smile which he replied to with a movement forward and a blunt, "You gave Short Round a fuckin' heart-attack."

She nodded, giving an exhausted breath, "Believe me, I just about had one myself. I woke up in some room, all alone, and I didn't have anything on me – they took my gun, of course, and even the little pocket knife I hid in my boot after I tried to get it out. It wasn't until after I saw you all that they brought me through here, with everybody–" She trailed off, brow denting. Then, shoulders slumping somewhat, she continued, "They left these people, you know: the doctors and nurses. Felipe and Guillermo saved them, protected them. They're – good. They're good people."

They took pause at that. It was strange to hate the man with every fibre of their being in one moment only to switch to a sort of uncertain respect the next. Daryl, for one, was just satisfied that the man hadn't harmed her – and then he remembered her leg. Moving forward, he gestured to it, and spoke, voice darkening a bit again from its slight upturn, "Did they hurt you or somethin'?"

"Ah, no," she flushed, and they quirked their brows in question at her flustered response, "I – kicked one of them really hard on my way in. I think I pulled a muscle."

The slightest of pauses came as her explanation sinked in – and then Daryl couldn't help but give an appreciative laugh, face abruptly pulling into a grin from its previous dark scowl, surprising her and Glenn somewhat. After a moment of shock at his sudden change, Jeanie broke into a smile of her own, face brightening, gaze warming. Pausing, she looked at them both again, smile widening all the more as she spoke, "Hey – thanks."

This time, Glenn spoke up, brow denting as he asked, "What for?"

"Coming back for me." She sombred a bit, "Those guns...there's nothing more valuable than them anymore. So – thanks. Thanks for coming back."

Daryl stared at her for a moment before turning away, voice lowering a bit as he gave a gruff, quite blunt reply, "Ain't like we're gonna give up on you so quickly – those assholes took you, and we were gonna get you back. S'all there was to it."

She stared back at him, quite struck. Nothing much had been said, but it felt as though an epiphany had come upon her. Things weren't what they used to be – she wasn't quite alone anymore. There were people who had her back. She seemed to try and say something, to reply with even just a thanks – but she couldn't quite find it in herself to do so with the weight of this thought pulling at her mind. So, instead of saying anything, she just smiled.

* * *

And, with that, they carried on.

Rick arrived back, less a few guns which Daryl grimly warned him to be a very generous mistake, and they moved back out, waving behind at the little place of care they had found still alive out in the hell of the world they now lived in. Things passed in a rush – Daryl reluctantly agreed to leave the search for Merle until the next day, knowing all too well that darkness brought with it new dangers in all his years of hunting and scavenging out alone in the wilderness. The discovery of the missing truck had spurred them on, inspiring an awful fear that Merle had done just what Jeanie had been afraid of – wreaking vengeance on an altogether unsuspecting camp. And now they were nearing the site itself, only a few minutes away from the last path they had to take – and there was still no sign of the dreaded vehicle in their quickly darkening horizons.

Jeanie leaned further into Daryl. The day had taken its toll on her worst of all, unsurprisingly – being chased by a mob of monsters, kidnapped and then made subject to terrifying hostage situations over the span of a few hours would take it out of anyone. Her pace was starting to slow a bit and she hadn't talked for a while now, legs and voice draining of power after all the strain and her little, respectfully caused injury. He could tell she wanted to slow down, but she would never say so: she knew what was at stake here. So, instead of lowering his pace, he tightened his grip on her, shaking his head firmly at Rick when the man sent a look back at him, obviously trying to see if he needed him to take over. Daryl could handle Jeanie just fine – after all, he'd dragged entire bucks over miles by himself before. A woman could hardly be more difficult than that feat. Besides, they didn't have time to stop and switch over, to check everything was okay – no, the best thing to do was carry on in the last stretch and ensure that their base was secure, that their people weren't in danger of a sudden massacre being inflicted upon them. And, he had no doubt that there would be a massacre if Merle arrived back: he, out of anyone alive today, knew what kind of a man his brother was. Blood may be thicker than water, but...goddamn if that man wouldn't rip them all apart in his rage. It wasn't looking good.

She nearly tumbled over again, her hand latching immediately onto his front without a thought, a frustrated apology pouring out quietly from her lips, "—Sorry..."

He shrugged, not even looking down in his determined strides forward as she swiftly moved her instinctive grip away from his stable chest – but he made a clear diversion from a rockier step she might trip on, moving to a barer patch. She sighed at the gesture, relieved, but also ashamed at her uncharacteristic clumsiness. It made her feel like a dead weight, and she was most definitely not comfortable with that. It brought back bad memories of stumbling about from one city to the next, the wound on her arm becoming worse as the days went by. Those days flashed up more and more in her mind every day, it seemed, as she tried to settle in, to relax. But, she couldn't. She didn't know if she would ever really be calm again, if she would ever feel _safe_ again. It frightened her.

Grimacing, bending in on herself somewhat as she bit her lip harshly, drawing blood, Jeanie mumbled out another ashamed little, "Sor–"

"Don't say that."

She flicked her head up at Daryl's cutting interruption, finding him abruptly looking down at her, gaze hard. Pausing for a moment, unsure even as they continued on without stopping, she eventually asked, "Why?"

"Makes you sound weak," he turned away again, eyes back on the horizon, "You're not."

She stared up at him again. Silence engulfed their small group, Glenn glancing around at them for a moment to make sure they were still okay before turning away again, sensing that he shouldn't butt in. Jeanie looked away eventually, legs still pushing quickly ahead as they moved ever closer to camp, brow furrowing and mouth tightening. She vaguely recognised, even in her distracted state, the warmth of Daryl's hand as he carefully shifted her arm about him more, subconsciously moving in as they moved as one. Eventually, she found it in herself to speak, voice soft, "Daryl...I–"

A scream pierced the air.

They stopped. Their ears pricked, eyes widening, muscles tightening as they all sucked in a sharp breath, trying to figure out how far away that sound was, if it was their people or a lone stranger out in the wilderness coming to an unfortunate end. All of their doubts vanished when the thunder-clap of a shotgun exploding ripped through the air, a sudden flood of screeches echoing around the mountainous valley, widening and rising with each second, desperate and blood-curdling.

They ran.

Their streams of wild curses were barely audible as they pounded up the path and the screams ahead grew in volume, blasting through their ears and gritting their jaws. Rick immediately threw out guns to them each of them with harsh, drowned-out instructions to get everybody to the RV, his powerful posture rocketing up after all his years as a police officer, the overwhelming fear for his family pushed aside to make way for just the right amount of panic he needed to push past his aching limbs and get to them in time before they were lost to him forever. Jeanie, even with her pistol and machete jingling about on her hip, was thrown a powerful looking hunting rifle which she swiftly caught without a thought, flipping the safety off and cocking it. The abrupt rush of adrenaline that had spurted into her system at the first scream now dulled the pain of her leg, unlatching her and pushing her away from Daryl as he loaded the rifle Rick threw him, recognising that there was no time for length reloading and aiming of a precision weapon – but rather for blunt force, quick explosions of power. Now was the time for brutality and swiftness.

They sprinted up the hill, sweat dripping from their forms, limbs screaming at the sudden, searingly intense pressure as they got closer and closer to the beacon of light that was the camp-fire. The screams were suddenly even clearer as if they had shifted into a high-definition loudspeaker, tautening their shoulders and calves and gritting out yells from them as they finally reached the opening to camp – finding a bloodbath. All around, people were screeching as they were pulled apart, blood sputtering over tents, chunks of flesh curdling over in the dirt as struggling forms caved to pressure and came apart in the hands of rotting monsters. The survivors – in all the chaos, it was impossible to tell how many there were – were scattered, jutting out from each other at long distances, upheaving tent poles and frying pans to fend off their attackers, screaming for help that couldn't come.

With barely a thought, the arriving group lifted their guns and shot.

Rick planted a bullet square in the temple of a walker grabbing at Jacqui before running onwards, allowing the woman to sprint away with a desperate yell, shaking hands grabbing out at a glass bottle to shatter against the head of a walker that got in her way. Glenn followed quickly, his inexperienced hands trying to steadily aim and shoot, scarcely managing to scrape a bulky walker's head as it made a lurch towards Morales, T-Dog pulling up the rear, landing a few shots of his own as he roared for Jacqui to get to the RV.

Jeanie ran forward, instincts flaring, the huge rifle pulling up against her shoulder as she squeezed the trigger over the head of a lone walker, who was ripping apart the still body of a faceless corpse. The gun rocketed back, slamming agonisingly into her shoulder as it shifted away at the last second with a knock from a fleeing, bawling man she vaguely recognised – but she landed the shot, the walker's head imploding in on itself, a chunk of brain flying away to hit her boot. Turning away, finding the survivors attempting to push to the centre and up to the sanctuary of the Winnebago, she moved forward again – only to be abruptly pulled at by a pair of decaying claws, reeling her back with a jerk.

Head whipping up to the snarling face of a walker, she gave a yell, slamming the rifle back into it to try and push it away, only succeeding in edging it's snapping jaws away from her neck. A shout came from her left, and she looked up to see Daryl aiming his gun, a roar ripping through the air from him, " _Get your fuckin' head down!"_

She tried to push down and away from his sights, but the walker pulled insistently, edging her up bit by bit. Daryl yelled again, quickly turning away for but a moment to slam the butt of his gun into an approaching walker's face before shoving his weapon back up at the ready, voice starting to strain with the pressure of his thunderous shouts as the walker moved dangerously closer to her, " _ **Move, Jeanie!**_ " She slammed back again, the rifle barely making a dent as it hit the walker's gut, one of its arms coming away to pull at her arm, forcing the gun to tumble away to the dirt, her last barrier gone and allowing it to move in on her, Daryl giving a final, roaring, " _ **MOVE–!**_ "

And then, quite suddenly, Jeanie's hand pulled free with a final burst of strength, flew down to her belt and grabbed her pistol – throwing the barrel up to press against the howling walker's temple and explode with a swift click of the trigger. The thing slumped away, edging down her jacket as its grip slipped from her, allowing her to pull up, already grabbing the rifle without pause, sprinting across on her screeching leg to Daryl, who started to speak when she suddenly shoved him away to the ground. Before he had a chance to shout out, a walker plummeted to the dirt next to him with a loud bang from above – a walker that had crept up on him without him knowing.

He stared up at Jeanie for a moment as she cocked her gun again, glancing immediately down to see if he was okay with a strained gaze before he jumped up to her side, gaze sharpening, teeth gritting shut, nodding grimly to her with a firm, " _Stick close_."

They moved forward instantly, shifting into each other, shoulder to shoulder, hips brushing as they sprinted forth. They squeezed off rounds at every walker to flash up in their sights, allowing the gaggle of still screaming survivors to gather in the middle of the camp, awaiting a chance at safe passage forward as the armed men and women slowly picked at the mob of snarling monsters. The walkers were shifting into groups now, moving forward like a swift scythe of death as they cut down any in their way, the screeches of desperate women and men ending abruptly with final, resounding howls. Rick had almost reached the Winnebago, and was roaring for everybody to move up there, the thunderous ringing of shotguns and pistols blasting off around him. Turning up the right path, they found an already lost group of people being slowly picked apart, and went back to back, shooting a flurry of bullets, yelling to each other when another popped up from their sides.

Glancing to her left as she killed yet another snarling, shambling corpse, Jeanie suddenly spotted another at the side – devouring the gurgling body of the woman she had met on her first night in camp. Without a thought, she snapped at the trigger, and the walker's head immediately exploded in a shower of black bile and fragments of charred skull. The convulsing woman collapsed with it to the ground, her whole body shaking as gushing blood ran in rivers across the dirt beneath her, split mouth vomiting out crimson foam, her unseeing eyes staring blankly into the distance – and then her head exploded, a bullet slamming straight into her temple and bursting out the other side with a piercing crack and a wet splatter.

Without another glance, reeling mind screaming wordlessly in indescribable horror, Jeanie turned, blood dripping unimpeded down her face as she cocked her gun once more and ran onwards with Daryl as he yelled for her to move on, leaving the still corpse of the poor, nameless woman in an obliterated, dripping heap behind her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoyed! Leave a comment, if you have the time!


	14. Chapter 14: An Intrusion; An Assertion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Daryl deals with the group dealing with things. It doesn't go well. An argument breaks out, and is tentatively resolved on one side only.

Chapter 14 - An Intrusion

Shoving an errant branch out of his way, Daryl let loose a furious snarl.

With every step he took, he just seemed to get angrier. It was building and building, his rage, and he couldn't quite seem to stop it despite the little, quiet voice in the back of his mind that told him he had to calm down and realise the danger he was putting himself in. He didn't even know where he was going – his crossbow was back at his tent, and he hadn't bothered to even look in the direction he had chosen to storm off in, so entrenched was he in his sudden anger. But he kept striding onwards, his heated footsteps sending hiding animals scattering off as they tried to escape his burning path.

At his back, the camp was deadly silent. Even as he got further away to the point that their voices would start to fade, nobody spoke – nobody dared. Glenn was probably still staring at the spot he had disappeared from, posture still slumped, that _stupid fucking expression still on his face—_

He held back the sudden urge to punch a tree he passed, hand curling tightly as he firmly continued onwards, shoulders twitching about. He must have been even more absorbed in his anger than he had thought as he now had absolutely no idea where he was, the camp long behind him, naught but a melding mass of identical trees at his back. The only thing he could hear apart from his harsh, strained breathing and the squawking of far-off birds was his boots ripping roughly through the dirt, tearing up grass with his cleats – before, abruptly, the barely noticeable bubble of a river came from up ahead. Without even thinking about it, he made his way in its direction, head still down, thoughts still buzzing, muscles tensing. When he came out to the peaceful little river, he suddenly realised that it was the same one he had met Jeanie at – just slightly further upstream. It made sense, he distractedly realised: there were only so many water sources around the campsite, and he hadn't been walking _that_ long. He probably would have recognised it sooner if it wasn't for how goddamned _livid_ he was.

The mere thought of how angry he was made him even angrier, ridiculously enough, and so he immediately kicked at a downturned tree trunk that had collapsed next to the water bed, its rotting bark crumpling inwards at his vicious strike. Ignoring the writhing mass of bugs that poured out when he pulled back, he kicked it once more before turning, giving a stomp to the water without the slightest care as to how absurd he had to look, standing there as a full-grown man that was throwing a tantrum worse than a three year old's. A curse finally escaped him as he shoved a loose boulder into the disturbed water with a final slam from his now aching foot, his feral holler ringing out around him, uncaring as to any walkers that it might attract.

As he finally stopped, chest heaving, sweat dripping from his temple, he looked down to face the rippling water, grimacing. Staring without a sound at his unsteady reflection, breaths shaking his frame, his shoulders slumped, eyes darkening. Just as he was about to curse again to himself, a hand coming up to shove roughly against his temple, a soft rustle at his back whipped him around, prompting him to grab a tense hold of his hunting knife and wrench it out at the ready, a snarl curling his lips. However, against his expectations of finding yet another rotten walker stumbling forward to make a failed attempt on his life, something else entirely stood there – Jeanie, her gentle gaze watching him silently as she stood quietly off to the side.

Without saying a word to her, he turned, shoved the knife away with an unnecessarily rough slam from the butt of his hand and threw himself to the ground, boots licking the water, legs bent upwards before him, gaze focussing away into the distance. A tense silence engulfed them, the river flowing on without a care, the same as it had ever been since before all of this awful shit had happened to the world. Even as his stormy thoughts continued to rage inwards, Daryl clamped down on his frame in his stony silence, forcing his muscles to stop twitching and his posture to straighten, gaze becoming shielded. When Jeanie made no move towards him, he spoke, voice low and tense, "What d'you want."

There was a long pause before her even footsteps softly padded over to him, quietly trudging through the baked dirt and into the wet grass, a barely audible rustle of clothing coming from his side as she settled down next to him. He didn't turn around, gaze hardening as it fixed on the distance, posture tautening all the more. The bubbling of the river was all that they could hear for a moment before, finally, Jeanie's gentle voice softly broke the silence, "Glenn's just upset, you know. He didn't mean to snap at you like that."

He didn't turn around to face her as he answered tightly, "I don't give a fuck about that."

Her brow dented, voice falling, "Then why did you leave?"

He didn't answer. She stared at him in silence, uncertain of what to do or say as she waited to see if he would break his quiet – until, quite abruptly, he finally replied, "I ain't gonna stand there and take that shit. Not from him. Not from any of them."

She stared at him. A flicker of something passed in her gaze, turning her away for just a moment, shoulders shifting about. After a slight pause, she looked back and spoke, gaze dented with a quality he wouldn't have been able to pick up on if he had even bothered to turn to her, her voice soft as she told him, "Well, we can stay here, then," she leaned quietly back against a protruding rock, feet gently slipping out to touch the water's edge, "until you feel better."

A silence fell over them. The sounds of wildlife had started to creep back up near them after Daryl's fury had calmed a bit, the apparent danger of his presence lessening when Jeanie sat down beside him. Jeanie had looked away from him, gazing out wordlessly at the hushed river, hands picking quietly at her dirtied knees where dust was trapped indefinitely between the worn fibres of her clothes, caught beneath her well-worked fingernails. Daryl had turned to stare at her, eyes tinged, still saying nothing as he watched her sigh silently. She seemed tired today – although, when he thought about it, of course she was. She hadn't slept a wink all night, he knew. Even when Rick had exhaustedly told her to get some rest upon seeing the heavy bags beneath her eyes and the returning limp to her leg, she had only sat in her tent for hours on end, staring up at the dark plastic without a sound. She didn't know, but he had checked on her a few times in between shifting corpses about, finding her just laying there in silence, eyes uncomfortably blank. After a few hours of nothing, she had eventually turned up at his back, wordlessly helping him pull up yet another corpse, mouth a thin, tight line, silent.

This was the first time she had spoken all day, he abruptly realised. It was strange to see her being so quiet up at camp – but the solemn atmosphere made everyone lose the drive to speak. Nobody could think of anything to say even if they had wanted to. Not with so much death around them.

"What was Merle like?"

He halted. It took him a moment of gaping out at the trees, brow raised, to figure out if he had imagined that or not. When it became apparent that he had not, he turned to find her gazing softly at him, expectant, sitting up attentively. After a moment of staring at her in silence, he furrowed his brow and answered, "...What?"

"You never really talked about him." She paused for a moment, brow furrowing, "Nobody ever asked."

He stared at her, sitting still where he was, expression struck. Then, voice abruptly gruffening, he looked away again and spoke lowly, "You knew him. Why you askin' me?"

She shook her head, "I wasn't his only brother. I barely even talked to him," she shifted slightly, eyes glancing away as she remembered her previous decision to withhold informing Daryl of his brother' lechery even though he likely knew of it himself, "and I didn't know anything about him. You're different," her voice fell, "he cared about you."

That hitched his guard back up. He stiffened instantly, form shifting slightly away, an awful sort of discomfort grabbing him. Jeanie noticed immediately, her gaze whipping back up to him, voice suddenly tentative and unsure, "Daryl?" He didn't turn to her, muscles suddenly taut, mind lurching between utter blankness and a horrible sort of business, rendering him silent. She halted for a moment at his catatonic pause before gently shifting forwards, voice softening all the more, "...I'm sorry, I didn't mean to upset you. Let's talk about something else, like – I don't know–"

"–Fuck, Jeanie, do you not get it?" He suddenly whipped around, gaze blazing, his coarse voice abruptly violent, his frame rising as he barked out, "I _don't want to_ _**talk!**_ _"_

She didn't move. The horrible suddenness of his outburst shifted her shoulders up an inch, but her expression stayed the same, her gaze unflinching as she stared up at him, utterly silent, mouth shutting slowly. For Daryl, however, something within him had finally exploded, and he continued on, anger slowly gaining again from its slight lull at her arrival, his frame starting to gain some of its wildness once more as he stood, tall frame drowning her, "You people can't just _leave me alone_ , can you?" Something flickered in her gaze at that, but she kept quiet, "You _chain my brother_ _to a_ _pipe_ _–_ and then you wanna _find out more about him_?" His lips twisted into a bitter snarl, "None of you even gave one solid shit about Merle – you think I couldn't tell, that I couldn't see the fuckin' _looks_ you all gave him? Do you really think I'm that fucking stupid?"

There was only silence at his back in response. He expected, turning back to face her again, to find some kind of anger in her in response to the horrible, uncontrollable poison spitting out from his mouth, some kind of emotion flickering in her expression. But there was none. She was blank. And that just made him even angrier. He stormed forward up to where she sat, eyes growing feral and wild in the fury, his finger coming forward to jab the air in front of her as his livid voice roared out, "You wanted me to talk, didn't you?" At her steady lack of response, he grew all the more livid, his bitter snarl of a voice ripping through the air and reverberating around the forest, the sounds of the peaceful little river drowned out by his brutal fury, "Well, are you happy now? _Huh?_ "

She didn't answer. By now though, he had had enough, and so, with a final, bitter order of, "Stop pretending to give a shit about me," he turned unceremoniously away in another direction from the one he had travelled from camp, his boots splashing loudly over the water, gaze burning firmly ahead, thoughts steaming away madly. It seemed to him that he had been given a final push from his already unsteady footing, leaving him boiling in the snarling growl of a thought that everything was even more fucked than he had thought as he strode determinedly towards a vast, blank expanse of foliage, no destination in mind.

And then, just as he reached the edge, an arm pulled him back.

He whipped his head around, disbelief written plain across his features when he found Jeanie there, her hand forming a solid grip around his limb, determination etched into her stone-like expression. Before he even had a chance to angrily tear himself away, a vicious bellow ready to burst forth from his chest as a demand for her to fuck off and leave him alone already, something flickered in her that halted him where he stood.

Anger.

"I give a shit about you." Her blunt, low statement rolled out firmly from her strong lips, her eyes sparking, burning, ripping through the air, "I do, and that is not going to change, no matter how much you want it to."

There was a long pause. He turned to her, muscular frame still towering over her own, but no longer furrowed aggressively downwards, his violent posture loosening. No words brewed up in response to her, his mind abruptly blank for things to say. Feeling his muscles drop slowly, eyes still fixed intensely on hers, he abruptly noticed how pale and tired she looked, even as her grip stayed steady and firm where it sat. Something lingered horribly in her expression which he suddenly recognised as grief – pure, sheer despair. She was miserable. He hadn't thought on it before, not really, but she had been friends with Andrea's young , fallen sister – the sister who now lay unmoving before the camp, her horrifyingly ashen body limp in the arms of her sibling, gaze dim and unfocussed as it drained away to a place none of them would ever be able to see. Jeanie had lost one of the first people to have cared for her – to have really, truly, sincerely shown her affection and warmth – since the start of the hell she had been left alone in, grasping and lurching forward for someone to find her. But she had come to speak to him anyway. And she had stayed.

She let go of his arm and moved back, slowly withdrawing her hand, brow steady.

"Stop doing this to yourself."

Her gaze stayed firmly on his own - certain, unmoving, blazing in the sharp, harsh beams of the sun. She waited a moment, silence engulfing them, the faint, barely there wind whistling faintly through the verdant trees – before, without another word, she turned and walked away.

Daryl stared after her as she disappeared back the way she came like a ghost, footsteps silent, form eliciting no sound. His brow was furrowed, gaze unsure, struck, floundering for the first time in a long time. He stood stupefied for hours, days, months, utterly silent, time melding into nothingness, his anger shaking around and cloying in his mind, no longer so certain.

Then, at long last, he stepped soundlessly forward and made his way back to camp.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All comments welcome! Hope you enjoyed!


	15. Chapter 15: Unnatural Quiet

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Settling into the CDC, Jeanie and Daryl have a talk - and divulge more about their pasts than they had planned.

Chapter 15 – Unnatural Quiet  


Staring up at the shiny titanium-bolstered ceiling, unseeing eyes absently tracking the course of a lone spider in the disused corner, Jeanie sighed.

When Dr Jenner had shown her the room, the chaotic, borderline hysterical rabble at his back nearly drowning out his words as he shifted aside for her to take a look, he had recommended that she clean it up a bit, as it had been largely abandoned for the duration of the whole apocalypse they had found themselves planted in. She had considered it but for a moment, eyes uncertainly skimming over the light shadow of dust coating the room, before deciding that she wouldn't bother. She had slept in trees for months. Cleanliness had long ago been abandoned.

That said, she _had_ grabbed a shower. After dinner, everybody else seemed to be doing much the same, exclaiming amongst themselves about the prospect of hot water pouring round about them instead of the stagnant pond water they had skimmed from the quarry, and so she decided to follow the crowd. Whereas the rest were practically singing with joy as they enjoyed the long-lost luxury of days gone by, she had instead just stood in silence as the water ran in thick rivulets down her weary back, catching and rolling about in her taut muscles. She felt like reprimanding herself for her lack of excitement as she mechanically rubbed a thick lather of shampoo into her filthy mop of hair, a stream of discoloured liquid swirling downwards into the drain with every movement of her worn hands, but a little voice in the back of her bluntly asserted that she had just reached the point where nice little things like hot showers no longer registered. Nothing to be ashamed about, she supposed. But a part of her missed her appreciation of stopping and smelling the few remaining roses.

She pushed the thought aside, her still sodden head shifting about on her soggy pillow, the slightly baggy men's clothes she had found stuffed away in a drawer, beneath an untouched candy bar which she had stuffed away for later and a used looking porno magazine, feeling strange in their cleanliness against her newly sparkling skin. She supposed she should go out again to socialise a bit with everybody as they explored their new surroundings, but something held her back – she didn't quite feel up to seeing them all smiling so merrily just yet when half of her mind lingered backwards to their last camp.

Just as her thoughts veered backwards and started to darken again, slumping her frame with their weight, a clumsy series of thumps blasted from her door, the latch shaking roughly about. She stopped her hand as it jumped to her machete, which sat gleaming at the ready on her bedside table when she found herself unable to tuck it away, and stood, brow denting as she fixed her clothes and swiftly made her forward with an awkwardly unsettled, "Who is it?"

There was a pause before the reply came, slurred and muffled by the heavy door, "'s Glenn. Who's-?"

She reached the door and quickly opened it before he finished, not realising that he had been leaning against it, and he tumbled inwards, a surprised yelp bursting from him before she caught him with her quick arms, groaning at his heavy weight as his arms latched onto her, his own legs suddenly useless with the shock of his fall. It took them both a moment to straighten, Jeanie pushing him upwards with a strained little shove, her arms groaning with the effort of withstanding a grown man's weight. Eventually, he managed to gain enough wherewithal to pull himself fully away, moving back to lean heavily against the door frame, a surprised poof of air passing his lips. Jeanie stood by at the ready in case he stumbled again, glancing away to the ground where the bottle he had been carrying had fallen, shards of glass standing like dangerous little islands amongst a pool of foul smelling alcohol. With a sigh, she tiredly realised she would have to clean anyway, despite her wishes otherwise.

That in mind, she took a confused looking Glenn's hand and pulled him inside with a gentle tug, carefully edging him around the mess as he mumbled bemusedly, giving a double-take back to her and exclaiming, "Jeanie? Why you in here?" She softly pushed him to the side of her bed and he clumsily shifted backwards onto it, another confused mumble trying to prod her, "'s my room, is't it?"

"No, Glenn, it's mine," she told him quietly as she searched through the generic looking wardrobe, eventually pulling out a disused looking Hawaiian shirt that looked like it had been transported from the 80s, "but don't worry about it." She flashed him a smile before moving back to the door, cleanly ripping off a section of the shirt and tugging it into a makeshift satchel as she shifted down onto her knees and began to carefully pluck up the glass and move it into the small parcel, intermittently wiping away some of the booze with the rest of the wasted material. Glenn seemed to relax a bit, his soft mumbles fading away into the background as he flounced backwards onto her mattress, one of his shoes dangling from his foot, the laces swaying in a tangled heap round about it. After a minute or so she had cleaned up well enough that no-one would get hurt, and so moved away to dump the ruined shirt and its contents into a dusty garbage pail with a metallic clang, wiping her hands over her scavenged clothes as she turned back to him where he lay, fingers clumsily twiddling over each other.

Deciding against asking him if he wanted to go back to his own room when she knew that the movement was likely to prompt a slew of nausea within him, she quietly stepped back to shut the door – when a figure abruptly flashed up at her side, surprising her and forcing out a little gasp from her, hand tightening for a moment on the door handle. A moment later, however, her eyes picked out the shadowed form of Daryl as he stepped forward, brow furrowed as he took in her expression before quirking upwards when he reached the frame and glanced inside to find Glenn conked out on the bed.

"'m I interrupting somethin'?"

Jeanie's brow dented for a moment, her posture straightening as he turned back to her, waiting for an answer to his blunt question. She and Daryl hadn't spoken for the entire day, only little warnings and the like passing between them when they arrived outside the CDC. The only contact they had upheld was when Rick's grip on things had started to slip and it became frighteningly apparent that their arrival to the compound was star-crossed. Walkers began to creep up on them, their rising groans hitching up their shoulders, widening their eyes as they sucked in tight breaths, grips tautening on their weapons as they all nervously glanced ahead to the man, his panic growing and pulling up on their muscles.

Jeanie had stood near the back at the center of the rising danger, suddenly faced with a dozen pairs of milky, unseeing eyes, shadowy forms that had lurked behind in the distance now slowly edging their way up and blocking their path of escape, her form abruptly quite small in the ocean of blackness, miniscule and meagre against the massive waves gathering before her. Teeth gritting at this overwhelming realisation, she had tightened her nearly painful hold on her machete, firmly shoving Carol and Sophia behind her, ignoring Carol's shaking hand as it tried to pull her up next to them as the group starting to tremble about uncertainly, their postures not so steady anymore. Rick's cries echoed about them, riling the monsters all the more as he shouted and screamed, spitting with fury and desperation as he pleaded for sanctuary from a seemingly absent saviour, Shane unable to pull him away in all his frightful, frantic need. A walker stumbled up near her, the rotten vestiges of what had once been a soldier, the combat armour torn and ripped away at the chest where a line of organs trailed a sludge of bile along the blood-stained paving, milky eyes staring blankly into Jeanie's own gaze. She couldn't look away even if she had wanted to, caught as she was in its stare, unable to look away from the horrifyingly tiny, half-chewed fingers that tumbled out of its mouth when it cracked open its shattered jaw and howled a guttural moan of base need and lifeless want, a bloodied hand outstretched to reach at her, ready to pull her down to the depths of deathly limbo with it.

And then a bolt smashed into its temple. Daryl appeared at her side, reloading his crossbow with a powerful yank of its mechanism, barely glancing at her as he bellowed a rough demand for her to, " _Get your ass in gear – we're gettin' the fuck out of here!_ "

Any protest she might have bellowed desperately back at him, voice breaking to be heard above the howl of the dead and the rising cries of Sophia as she shrieked for her sobbing mother to make everything before her go away, the thunderous, unmistakable screech of metal on metal ripped through the air around them, echoing backwards and around through the valleys and hills of Atlanta. Daryl and Jeanie whipped their heads around, the deluge of hell at their backs abruptly forgotten about as they gaped at the massive gateway opening before them, a blast of floodlights blinding them as Jeanie gave a shattered gasp of utter, inexpressible shock. Then the ecstatic cries of Rick reached them, bellowing for them all to make a run for it, to sprint inside while they could before the doors shut again – and Daryl's hard grip was suddenly wrapped around her arm and pulling her along with him, a swift kick beating away an assailant they passed as they pounded across the paving, boots leaving solid dents of blood and gore where they ran forth. Carol and Sophia were ahead by an inch, flanked by Jacqui and T-Dog with Jeanie and Daryl up the back of all of them, the couple closest to their own destruction, the eternal grasp of death inches away from them as they hurtled forward, hands now wrapped together in a bloodstained iron link between them. They inched closer and closer to their one hope of survival, muscles screaming, heads spinning, ears ringing – and then they made it.

They landed with a crashing thump in the sanctuary of the CDC.

The door slammed shut behind them, having started to lower once half of the group were in so that the approaching mob would be barred from entering – exaggerating their fear and panic all the more. Gasps of air they had withheld while running suddenly burst from their chests, and Jeanie nearly fell to the ground on her abruptly unsteady knees before Daryl's hand quickly steadied her, allowing her to collapse slightly into his side, arms shaking with adrenaline where they hooked onto him for support. He looked down at her, his own chest heaving as she looked up and met his gaze, brow dented, eyes wide. Standing there, panting harshly as their sweat pooled in little lakes of fear and adrenaline on the dusty marble tiling of their new sanctuary, they maintained contact for a moment longer before Daryl turned away, his grip leaving her immediately as he walked away, leaving her staring after him in silence, shoulders falling. Neither of them looked at the other again for hours.

She was surprised to see him, frankly. It had been a very real possibility that he would just ignore her for the rest of their time together, never speaking to her again after their spat – argument; discussion; venting – she didn't know. The point remained that he had shocked her somewhat, and it halted her. Eventually, she gathered herself and shook her head, glancing away for a moment as she gave a firm reply, "No. He's just a bit out of it, is all." Silence engulfed them, neither wishing to speak before Jeanie quietly prompted him on, voice falling a bit and softening, "What's up?"

Daryl stared at her a moment longer before moving forward into the room at her slight nod for him to enter, shutting the door quietly behind him as he answered, "Heard a noise and came down to see what was happening." He moved up next to the bed, poking Glenn with the bottom of a bottle he held, brow quirking up at the man's gurgle of protest and clumsy swipe, "Guess we know now."

"Oh," Jeanie fell quiet again as she stopped beside him, fidgeting a bit as they both looked down at Glenn as he dropped his arm, wiggling his fingers about in confused amusement as she continued, "Well. Thanks for checking."

He glanced at her again, seeming to consider something before he abruptly brought an arm up and presented her with another bottle she hadn't seen with a blunt, "You didn't get a drink at dinner."

She paused, surprised, before absorbing that he was giving her a gift. Struck, she slowly took it from him, uncorking it for a moment to get a whiff at the unfamiliar drink, finding a sickly sweet sort of cocktail within that burned her nose with its strength. She took a moment before replacing the top, giving him an appreciative nod and a quiet, "Thank you." She recognised the unspoken question that lay in his pointing out of her aversion to alcohol before, and explained, "I just didn't really feel like getting into the party mood, I suppose. Feels – strange."

She half-expected him to scoff or tell her to suck it up already and be a grownup, but instead he simply nodded, a slight air of understanding tilting his expression as he regarded her silently. Any camaraderie the moment might have stirred, however, was swiftly interrupted when an abrupt thump crashed from their side, and they whipped around to find Glenn groaning loudly, face crushed to the floor and limbs in a tangled heap, Jeanie's blanket knotted around him. They stared at him for a moment before exchanging a look and bending at the same time, heaving the thoroughly confused man into their strong grips and carefully moving him backwards, assuaging his fright with crisp reassurances that the world was not ending again: he had only had a little bit too much to drink at dinner. When Glenn had settled back finally, head hitting the still soggy pillow with a soft thump as he rolled over and released a soft, relaxed little moan, they glanced back to each other, back to an unsteady silence. Jeanie twiddled her thumbs over the bottle in her hands, itching and twitching for some sound to come into existence so that she felt less overwhelmingly pressured to say something.

Thankfully, it was only a moment longer before Daryl spoke, his voice lower in volume and intensity than usual, dulled by the bottles of beer he had thrown back at dinnertime, "You wanna go somewhere?"

She stared at him. The most surreal sensation came over her as she recognised the absurdity of Daryl actually requesting her presence _._ It was altogether striking, and absolutely unexpected – but very welcome. So, she did the only thing she could do and answered softly, voice unwavering even in all of her surprise, "...Sure."

They stood there for a moment longer, glancing down to make sure Glenn wasn't in danger of plummeting back to the linoleum again, before Jeanie leaned down and gently drew a blanket over him, following Daryl as he turned and led her out the door, shutting it quietly behind them both. Their walk down the musty smelling hallway was somewhat tense. Jeanie wavered between a desire to speak and wanting to enjoy the quiet whilst she could, the ever-present droan of the dead rarely absent from her life nowadays. Daryl didn't even look at her as they softly padded down the complex, soft, calmed breaths muffling gently against the shut doors they passed, the inhabitants soaking up whatever relaxation they could for once instead of sitting tensed up for hours on end, unable to sleep. His footsteps were a bit heavier than her own, but both were barely audible even in the echoing complex, the refined skill of walking lightly having been harshly instilled in them in different ways but at no less risk for either.

At long last, they passed all of those deeply immersed in their own consciousness and emerged into an empty room, glazed over by Jenner as he led them through their new home. It was a remnant of the strange period of time they now knew as 'before the end of the world': an utterly normal, totally benign looking break room of some sort, filled with dusty coffee-makers and abandoned cutlery, a few faded posters warning about the importance of sneezing into your elbow and maintaining good hand hygiene adding to the bizarre atmosphere of the crypt-like nook. They stared in at it for a moment before entering fully, wordlessly pulling up chairs away from a grimy looking table that cradled the rotten leftovers of a half-eaten meal, hastily abandoned in the panicked moments when the news of the apocalypse started pouring in like a tidal wave. They settled on placing them in the center of the room, facing away from this disconcerting detritus and giving them a thankfully inoffensive view of a blank segment of wall.

Daryl sat down first, as rough as he always was as he stretched his powerful legs out before him, a bottle of Jack Daniels hovering up at his lips as he intermittently glugged gulps here or there. Jeanie quietly joined him, gentler than he as she shifted back into some form of comfort in the awkward plastic-backed chair that reminded her of highschool canteens, pausing for a moment before popping open her own drink and sipping at it. It was as sweet as she thought it would be, nipping at her taste-buds as it trailed a warming path down her gullet, calming her posture somewhat, loosening her grip. She probably needed it, to be honest – the distraction. Maybe she ought to drown her sorrows while she still had the chance?

Neither she nor her partner spoke for a while, remaining still where they were in silence before, before, continuing with his surprising forthrightness, Daryl spoke up first, glancing round to look at her as he addressed her frankly, "Think that scientist is serious about us stayin'?"

She looked up from her bottle, gaze unsure. It took her a moment of quiet to reply, uncertainty tingeing her quiet words, "Yeah. ...maybe," she paused, a finger trailing subconsciously over the top of her glass, before adding the only unwavering answer she had, "I hope so. He let us in, at least."

He frowned, turning back away to the blank space before them, sucking up another measure of liquor before replying bluntly, "Don't trust him much. Shifty, like he's hidin' something." He paused before adding an appreciative, "Good booze, though. So maybe he's not all that bad."

"Yeah," she looked away for a moment before glancing back at him, "well. Maybe. It's nice to be inside an actual building again, with proper floors instead of dirt and rocks. Central heating'll be good for winter," she stopped, the possibility that they may not stay in their new haven for so long niggling at her and halting that point. "...I dunno. I'd like to stay. Being on the road," her brow dented, "I don't think everyone could do it."

Taking another gulp of his drink, Daryl nodded, "The whole thing was gonna fall apart sooner or later – they'd all get eaten or end up killing each other. Half of them wouldn't last a minute without people like us around to stand between them and the walkers."

That halted her for a moment, her brow denting as she asked uncertainly, "What do you mean?"

He gave a shrug, "They can't handle the shit that's happening nowadays. Why'd you think I went out hunting all the time?" He threw her a look, "Buncha morons that think it's gonna all bounce back after a while. They had it easy before. The closest they probably ever got to this was some snooty-ass family camping trip in the summer, going round trails, making s'mores and eating steak." Shaking his head, he concluded with a low repetition of his earlier sentiment, "They can't handle it."

Silence fell over them again, Jeanie halted by his words as he leaned back in his seat, eyes boring unseeingly into an office planner hanging withered off to the side. Her thoughts started to retract backwards, the implication of Daryl's earlier life mixing with her words to him at the riverside that morning – she almost halted upon realising it had only been that short a time ago, as it felt like decades since they had abandoned their tainted old home. She had asked him about his brother, what he had been like. The other part of that question affected the subject that had arisen at that moment: Daryl's past, what his life had been like before all of this horrible, nightmarish shit happened to them. Part of her wanted to ask, a curious, eager, old part of her; the new part, the weathered, calloused, scarred part, quashed that sentiment quickly. She didn't want to know. She could tell from his eyes, from how he held himself. Whatever had happened to him before, it wasn't something anybody would ever want to know. So she kept quiet.

Daryl, however, broke in on her darkening thoughts then with a quiet murmur, "Me and Merle didn't change much when the geeks turned up," his abrupt inference halted her, flicking her head up and widening her eyes as she stopped her thoughts were they stood, listening intently to his continuation, "we hunted since we were kids, with some shitty wire traps and a couple of rusted up BB guns. Ran out to the woods ourselves when the old man got locked up for the third time and caught some rabbit." Another shrug, "Just kept going from there. Things're the same as they ever were – we just kept running and killed anything that got in our way. Never stopped for anything or anybody 'til we passed by the busted up old camp outside Atlanta. This kinda life's in our blood," he scowled suddenly, stopping for a moment, " _my_ blood. Nothing's changed."

A trickle of Jeanie's drink plopped quietly down to the ground intermittently, ignored steadfastly as she stared at her companion, gaze unmoving. It felt like a line had been crossed, or a hurdle leapt over – Daryl had given her something, however small: a fragment of himself. ...It was strange. She didn't know quite what to think, whether to point her reasoning to the alcohol in his grip or something else between them. But she felt indebted – so she gave him something back.

Her voice, softer than it had ever been, barely audible, mixed with the dust and must of the room, the sickly scent of liquor and the lingering ghosts of the past whispering by as she quietly confessed, "It's my fault I got this scar."

A pause. Daryl turned. His gaze met hers. They stared at one another endlessly, utterly silent until Jeanie finally continued with a hesitant breath of air and a tone of voice that suggested she'd held back on talking for a long time, "I was walking through a town. I twisted my ankle pretty bad when everything hit – I fell wrong out of a truck – and I couldn't run any more. ...It was a stupid decision. I should've realised, but I needed a splint, bandages, pills – something. So I went through the town. I was just about to reach this little pharmacy when I saw some people ahead – men. They were," she cringed for a moment, "...hurting someone. I tried to stop them, but it was too late. So I – ran. ...Well. I tried, anyway. My ankle...it hurt so bad, I could barely even move – and this one guy, the leader I think, ran up behind me when I tried to leave and grabbed my leg, pulled on it really hard, so I just hit the dirt. I couldn't even twist round to hit him, because they all just – piled on. And then..."

She stopped. Daryl stared at her, gaze unreadable, posture straightened. His bottle was on the floor now, long forgotten about, a small pool of the abandoned liquor seeping out onto the grimy linoleum, reflecting the dim, flickering lights above them into a refracting little rainbow of colour. A broken looking fly hovered about, buzzing quietly on the edges of their vision, ignored by both.

Jeanie's brow dented, more words tumbling forth, like a dam let loose, "...It was a lesson, really. They told me that, as they did it – and they were right. But I didn't think of it the same way they did. It wasn't a lesson to stop trying to help people, to stand back and just let horrible things happen to them – I just learnt that the old world was finally done. People had changed – or they hadn't, maybe. They could've always been that way, I suppose. But the worst in everything was suddenly right there, and I couldn't just run away like I wanted to, like I could have before. I had to turn and face it, and never make the mistake of thinking things were like they used to be ever again. But _I_ wouldn't change. I would just – do what I had to do."

Silence. She had turned away upon her last words, eyes darting to the murky floor, suddenly ill at ease with so openly meeting his gaze. Just for something to do, she quietly placed her bottle on the floor, no longer wishing to partake in its contents, abruptly wondering if she had said too much, given away a portion of her thoughts that shouldn't be heard. She had half a mind to just excuse herself and leave, to pretend she was tired when she would likely just sit in a chair all night, consumed by her thoughts as Glenn snored away on her bed, oblivious. However, when she straightened and looked up to murmur the beginnings of a farewell, she found something that made the words die on her lips.

Daryl was smiling at her.

It was a strange sort of smile – tilted, not entirely bright, filled with something she couldn't identify – but it was a smile nonetheless, in her eyes. His eyes were raised firmly to her own, unwavering, body turned completely round to fully face her, attentive. Finally, after a long, unbroken pause, he spoke, lowly spoken words lifted with a measure of respect she never really expected to be regarded with, "You really are tougher than you look."

That was all he had to say. He turned back, slowly lifted his bottle up off the floor, and finished the last vestiges of it in one gulp before standing up, stretching out his neck and legs. Jeanie stared after him, struck silent, eyes wide, expression fixed. Her mouth was stuck, unable to think of a response to his unexpectedly appreciative display. Luckily, she didn't have to think of anything more to say, as Daryl turned, gave her a nod, and told her, "C'mon. You can sleep in my room tonight – I'll bunk in a chair and make sure China-Boy doesn't choke on his puke."

She hesitated a moment longer, gaze turning to his outstretched hand, before slowly grasping it in her soft grip and pulling herself up, her chair creaking quietly as she straightened and stood before him, wordless as she let go of him. Her gaze flickered up to his, looking for something, uncertain, unsure.

Then, with a final look to her, Daryl turned and they walked out together, footsteps softer than before, the gentle breaths of sleeping companions now calming instead of disconcerting, as they shut the door of a shrine to the past behind them with a soft click.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All comments welcome! Hope you liked!


	16. Chapter 16: Slumber

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things at the CDC come to a violent end. Jeanie takes a fall for Daryl - and he's not happy about it.

Chapter 16: Slumber

An echoing, pounding beat crackled around Jeanie's mind.

It had hit hard, to say the least – the sheer force of the initial blast immediately clattering down an all-encompassing darkness around her. A tinny, constant ringing had started afterwards, emphasising the lack of anything before her vision all the more, like static on a television screen. She vaguely recognised something gripping her tightly as she slipped away quietly, the feeling of being lifted up into a firm, protective grip giving her the final shove into the pit of blackness she had wavered before. Then, there was nothing. Nothing at all. Maybe a thought every so often, a faint sliver, a whisper of a memory flashing past her still ringing ears, muted and muffled, outwith her lethargic grasp. An angry snarl against her neck would suddenly clench tightly against her for but a moment before being just as quickly replaced by a soothing murmur at the base of her throat and a gentle touch.

It went like this for a while – or it could have been only a moment, a second, a flash for all she knew – before the intense monotone started to slowly diminish, a gradual warmth at her side beginning to fade into her senses, the crackling beat that had bothered her so much turning into a steady, soft rattling and comforting murmurs a few steps away. Her eyes fluttered slightly, brow denting for a moment as one of the voices quietly sighed at something another had said, both reassuringly familiar – and then she came back into the world of the living.

Immediately as her gaze flicked open, flinching at the sudden brightness of a light above her, something shifted beside her and she tensed, making to sit up before a firm hand pushed her carefully back. Her vision wavered for a moment with the unexpected movement, one of her hands flinching up from underneath the blanket wrapped tightly around her to squeeze her temple for a moment, twitching back when she felt a nasty bruise forming, making her acquiesce to the silent command from whoever it was for her to lean backwards. Before she even had a chance to confusedly question who it was, she abruptly realised from the familiar scent and build that it was Daryl. As she registered that, his head popped into view, with him leaning over from where he sat as a makeshift chair for her, his eyes focussed intently on hers, flicking about as if he was searching for something. She paused, relaxing against him as she realised that she was safe, and was about to ask him what he was looking at before his hand came up to hold her face, stopping her immediately as she stilled, her eyes widening slightly as she stared back at him, silent as he.

He kept her there, a few inches away from him for a few moments more before slowly letting her go, his gaze letting up and relaxing a bit as he let his arm fall away and lean behind him, answering her unspoken question, "You've not fucked your head up too badly, at least. Dale was just about pissing himself telling everybody you could have a concussion."

She took a moment longer than she normally would have to process what he was saying before nodding, a quiet 'oh' escaping her, gaze falling. Allowing her vision a slight pause to adjust, she turned to glance about, finding herself in the comforting interior of the Winnebago. She paused, brow denting as she tried to find the right words to formulate a sentence, mind still utterly fatigued, "Where are we going?"

"Away," Daryl muttered in response, frowning before adding, "Think it's that Fort Shane wanted to go. Stupid idea. They're probably all overrun by now – no use in checking."

She sighed tentatively, uncertain of how she felt about the decision. She supposed Shane was treating the whole thing as repayment for having went to the CDC – Rick got his way, and now he got his. But she wasn't entirely sure that was the best idea. To distract herself from this tired indecision, she glanced about the RV, trying to relax herself. Up ahead, Dale was sitting with Glenn and T-Dog, with Jacqui strangely absent from her usual place in the passenger's seat beside him.

That thought abruptly sparked an explosion of more, and a whole deluge of information suddenly flooded in on her, halting her movements completely so that her vision stuck on the nook she knew too well, where she and Jacqui had sat with Jim in the last couple of hours of his life, a few dark spots of crimson etched into the material of the inappropriately sunny curtains the only remaining evidence that the man had ever existed. However, so intense were the thoughts pouring in on her now that she didn't have the time to stop and ponder on him – the memory of that morning, of waking up in a strangely comforting bed and of laughing quietly at Glenn's dire hangover standing out starkly as the only warm, soothing snippets. The rest of it screamed at her shrilly, hitching her shoulders up and clenching all of her body up into itself, nearly shivering with the intensity of the tightening of her limbs.

She had been sitting down when the alarm rang. Nothing important. Nothing immediately memorable. She could vaguely recall having been smiling somewhat melancholically at a brand of cereal she had often eaten as a child, fingers playing with one of the little plastic toys you sometimes got in them, when an abrupt blare all around her sent the box plummeting to the floor with a loud crunch, her head whipping about in alarm. Resisting the urge to cover her complaining ears with her hands at the piercing din that banged around her head, she had sprinted immediately out of the room, leaving the door swinging ajar as she pounded down the hall, all too suddenly aware that she was isolated and without a weapon in a place she barely knew. She hurried as fast as her muscles could push themselves down hallway after hallway, finding nobody else despite her frequent yells for everybody and anybody to answer her. Her only stop was at her own room, where she swiftly snatched up her few belongings and her unspeakably imperative machete, the rumpled sheets on her bed and the messy blanket on the her chair only briefly reminding her of the night before, panicking her all the more as the absence of Daryl and the rest of her group was emphasised.

Eventually her panicked scarper across half the complex landed her in the very centre of the facility where everyone else was inexplicably gathered – but, so far away had she been before that by the time she arrived panting harshly in the doorway, clothes in a chaotic jumble around her and machete gleaming in the flickering light ahead, she had missed the greater part of what appeared to be the insane breakdown of Dr Jenner.

She was, however, just in time to see him get cracked painfully across the face by a furious looking Daryl.

She sprinted forward again immediately, her lungs straining at the lack of respite she had given them as she pulled the roaring man away from the bizarrely passive Jenner who had immediately slumped to the floor without any form of physical rebuttal, her eyes widening as she picked up the sickeningly overpowering odour of hard alcohol and recognised the strangely formal attire he had clothed himself in. He looked like he was dressed up for a funeral, what with that and his dark, severely introverted gaze – and that's when she stopped. Her grip loosened, confused cries for an explanation of what was going on dying on her lips, allowing Daryl to break free and immediately try to punch the man again, held back only by Rick and T-Dog with Shane standing off to the side and doing nothing to intervene, itching and twitching about, hands jittering over his shotgun, brow furrowed dangerously. Jeanie, however, paid little attention to all of the chaos around her. Suddenly, everything made sense. The whole night long, even as she had sat in Daryl's rumpled bed, staring unseeingly at his crossbow where it lay propped up in a corner, she had been unable to fully relinquish the feeling of being caught in something – a trap; a cage; a prison – whatever it was, she felt as though she was stuck in there with no way out, and it had unnerved her immeasurably, her mind only relaxing enough for her to fall into some semblance of rest when she had rolled over and her nose picked up the strangely comforting scent of Daryl on the pillow beside her, hands unconsciously lifting up to curl into it. When she had awoken, startled for a moment at her unfamiliar surroundings, she still felt uncomfortable, on edge – like she was missing something important. But now that she had found it, she wished she hadn't.

When they had arrived, Jenner had told them the doors would stay down no matter what, steadfast and firm even as they all scarpered around him in all their adrenaline-rushed fright. The alarm was going. And she had wondered before what would happen if the electricity for such a facility were to run out. Well, it had run out. They were trapped in the CDC.

And they were all going to die.

Abruptly, an intense heat clenched in her chest and her breath came out in little gasps, head swimming too suddenly for her to deal with. Her thoughts started to yelp and screech in horror, overcome, and she stumbled clumsily over to one of the doors, slamming a hand against it when it followed her expectations and refused to open. It seemed as if the entirety of her mind was suddenly engulfed in animalistic fear, words fleeing and leaving her with naught but a panicked keel that burst from her lips as she nearly tumbled back, the indescribable horror of realising that your life is about to be extinguished and that there was absolutely nothing you could do about it suddenly all too understandable for her. Her eyes flicked quickly from place to place, brow dented with the massive weight of unwanted knowledge, words dead on her lips as she found herself unable to even cry out. A few steps away, she vaguely recognised others collapsing where they stood, sobbing openly at the realisation that they were caught and unable to escape. A somewhat stabilised part of her lurched forward as though to push her towards Jenner, thoughts swerving all over the place and trying to think of ways to get her out of there, to convince him to let them all go – but then something happened. A switch was suddenly flipped, and she wasn't sure how – but she knew that she no longer wanted to talk. She wanted to take action.

That thought in mind, she straightened stiffly, the soft weeping behind her fading away as her thoughts focussed and deafened her to everything else, shoulders throwing themselves back as she turned, striding forward without a sound to the other side of the room, largely ignored by those surrounding her as the roars of Daryl echoed around them. When she reached what she had been aiming for and pulled back her tightened machete to smash it into the dusty looking 'In Case of Fire' cabinet before her, his bellows halted, and she felt multiple gazes swivel to face her as she sheathed her weapon without a sound, grabbed what she had been seeking, and turned back, hardened gaze finding Daryl's own as she marched onwards. As she approached him where he stood, suddenly not trying to fight back at Rick and T-Dog's grips, she had chucked him one of what occupied her hands, halting before him. He caught it without a thought, looked down for but a moment, and then sneered darkly, eyes narrowing in agreement. Then, shaking off the grips of the other men, he and Jeanie strode forward to the steel-reinforced gateway standing between them and their lives, lifted their axes, and swung them down.

The metallic thud pierced the air around them, vibrating and resonating through the great expanse engulfing them in the centre. Others stared at them for a moment before slowly turning back, seeming to give up hope after the first few pounds left not even a hint of a dent, swivelling their attention back to Rick as he started to desperately attempt to negotiate with the utterly steadfast Jenner. Jeanie was past listening at this point, however, as she was so caught in her sudden instinctual need to do something rather than say something that everything behind her melted away into nothingness, her gaze focussed ahead on her only way out of her impending death. Daryl was silent at her side apart from the occasional grunt, brow furrowed dangerously as he pounded at the door, teeth bared furiously like a cornered animal. People at their backs – if they weren't weeping openly – were desperately conversing, telling loved ones how much they cared for them, how they would never let go of each other. Daryl and Jeanie, however, seemed to be on the same wavelength in that they couldn't do that right now, even if Jeanie was something of a gentle spirit compared to her – friend? ...She didn't have time to think about that. But the point was, even if they had something to say, they probably wouldn't have said it to the other. Not because they didn't want to, or didn't care – no matter what they might have said, they did at the end of the day, even if neither ever admitted or realised it – but because it would've felt like the end. Like they were saying goodbye.

They went like this for a long time – or it felt like it, at least. Jeanie could barely think. She knew time was closing in, she could feel it edging up on her like a dark figure creeping up with a glint of metal at their side, a moment away from striking down at you with a finalising blow. She didn't know how well Rick's efforts of negotiation were going, as she couldn't focus enough to try and figure it out. However, one thing stood out to her, a little flash of a statement pinging up on her peripheral: Jenner was telling them all that it would be better to die now, in a millisecond of scorching heat rather than to be torn to shreds by the monsters outside. To be honest though, rather than deflating her and making her give up, it just pushed her all the more. Even if attacking the damned door before her did nothing, even if it did _absolutely nothing at all_ to divert the burning fate closing quickly around her, she didn't care anymore: she was past that point. She couldn't sit there. She couldn't give up. She couldn't allow herself to burn up in a flash without at least knowing that she had never laid down once and allowed fate to take her wherever it wished. She would make her own destiny, or providence, or whatever anybody had ever called it – it didn't matter anymore. It was her choice. And she was going to go on her terms alone.

So, that in mind, she nearly collapsed with utter relief when the doors suddenly opened.

A shocked gasp burst from her lips, her axe falling away from her hands to the ground with a thunderous clank as she whipped her head back to see Jenner at a computer, Rick frozen before him as he absorbed that the man was letting them all live. She didn't have time to register Andrea standing off to the side, an absent sort of look about her or Jacqui's slumped posture as she didn't bother to move from where she was seated as Daryl's bellowing voice pierced the air, spinning Jeanie back around to see him dump his own axe and grab his own bags – and then, like a flash, they were gone, leading the pack for once as they volleyed down the hall without a thought, terrified that their chance at life had already taken flight from them. Their heavy breaths echoed around the complex as they emerged up through the higher levels to the ground floor, light blinding them as they sprinted on, ignoring the mobs of walkers on the horizon as the blaring alarm gathered a horde around them – focussed solely on the exit they were but a few steps away from.

They skidded to a halt before it and then slammed into it with purpose at the same time – only to be immediately bounced back, the door staying firmly shut against their combined weight. They gaped for but a moment, realisation that it was locked sinking in before Jeanie removed her machete from her belt and Daryl unhooked his crossbow, both attacking the glass without pause, painfully aware that time was closing in. However, as the others caught up and all had a go at breaking the agonisingly simple looking windows alongside them, it became swiftly apparent that they were stuck again. The realisation forced a desperate sort of curse out from Jeanie, her voice hitching with fear as a shaken looking Rick skidded round the corner, looking horrified as he absorbed from her reaction that they weren't able to leave. They all bellowed at each other for a few minutes, each offering no way out despite their unimaginable desire to escape, seeing nothing that any of them could do. It was only when Carol ran forward to Rick with something in her hands and the man's face lit up that they all allowed themselves to hope that they were finally going to be free.

At Rick's harsh yell for them all to duck, they all threw themselves to the floor, arms flung over their heads, and then when the initial blast faded away, they didn't even pause as they all stood and ran, vaulting out of the gap they had blasted in the side of the building, cutting themselves on the bulletproof glass as they sprinted onwards.

Daryl pushed Jeanie to their only chance of escape before him, edging her up at the back Lori and Carol and ignoring her cry for him to go first, vaulting through immediately after her with a strained command for her to run like she'd never run before. She didn't protest as she swivelled away and sprinted onwards, Daryl instantly up at her side as they high-tailed it down the pathway, the howl of walkers closing in on them mixing with the thunderous alarm and creating a hellish soundtrack for their flight. A colossal sounding creak, like that of a ship as it starts to collapse in on itself and give into the titanic pressure of the ocean surrounding it suddenly sounded, blasting round the remnants of civilisation at their backs. Jeanie nearly whipped around in instinct before quashing that flinching reaction to quicken her strides, her hand flying out to grab hold of Daryl's arm and urge him onwards faster, her voice unable to yell to him to hurry.

The creaking sound got progressively louder, hitching up the moans echoing around them, and an intense heat started to build, a rumbling gathering beneath their feet and shaking them about, making them nearly stumble as they slowly reached the end of the path and painstakingly approached the RV-

"-You're a moron, you know that?"

Surprised at being so abruptly shaken out of her thoughts, Jeanie flicked her gaze up to Daryl, who was staring intently away from her, shaking his head, brow furrowed. The sounds of soft conversation up ahead faded back into her hearing, having been largely diminished in her introversion, and the Winnebago juttered about every so often over small inclines and untended roads, the quiet trundling relaxing her somewhat. She was about to ask him what was wrong when he turned his gaze to glare intensely at her, his form tensing as he told her bluntly, tone deepened, "I was gonna cover you. That's the way it shoulda been." A pause, a deepened glare, and then an angry, exasperated, "Why'd you go and do that?"

Jeanie stared at him for a moment, silent, until she replied quietly, "...Because that's what I'm always going to do. When things happen, I'll always put you first. Just the way it is."

When they jumped over the last few steps of the CDC's headquarters, the thunderous creaking had finally come to a head. It built up and up a few seconds more, growing louder and more intense with each second, making all of them yell and scream as the group ahead tumbled into the Winnebago – but Daryl and Jeanie hadn't made it inside. They had reached Shane's Hummer, and so when the climactic explosion abruptly blasted towards them with an awe-inspiring crash of flame and power, it was all they could do to fling themselves to the ground behind it and hope for the best. However, as Daryl made to grab Jeanie and pull her down beneath him, Jeanie had smacked his hand away without a thought, pushed him down, and flung herself over him, arms clenching tightly down on his form to hold him in place.

The blast had swept over her unprotected ears, the sheer force of the explosion rocking her and smacking her head against the tarmac as her knees tightened around Daryl's form, his bellows drowned out by the indescribable sound. Even when her muscles screeched and her hearing gave out, she lasted until the rumbling of the explosion and the ensuing storm of shrapnel had calmed before she collapsed like a dead weight over him, a splatter of her blood streaking across his shirt from her bashed forehead. He grabbed hold of her, yelling furiously for her to wake up even as his piercing cries went unheard, her head lolling slightly with the movement and forcing a desperate curse from him, and so he hauled her up into his arms, stumbling against his own disorientation as he bellowed for the others to move out of the way and let him up into the RV. That was the extent of what Jeanie could remember, for obvious reasons. But she didn't regret a moment – she would do it again, even knowing she would mess herself up so badly in the process. Like she said, it was just the way she was.

Daryl was staring at her still. His gaze hadn't moved an inch since they had started talking, an uncharacteristic focus in his attention to her. She wasn't sure what to think of it or what to say, so she simply looked back up at him, a tired, uncertain smile pulling up somewhat at a corner of her mouth. A wave of fatigue washed over her suddenly, and her smile turned down, eyes closing, brow denting as she sighed softly. But, instead of simply allowing herself to drift off as she was sorely tempted to do, she tiredly realised that she was still leaning up against him and so made to move away, worried that she would be bothering him if she outstayed her welcome, no longer needing someone to make sure she was healthy.

However, when Jeanie made to move away and shifted the blanket off of herself, Daryl's hand moved up to loosely grasp her arm and halted her with a surprising degree of gentleness, and she looked back to him to find that he had finally looked away, eyes boring over her shoulder. She tried to meet his eyes, questioning, but he refused to look at her, stopping any question she was about to quietly put forth with a simple mutter of, "It's fine." There was a pause, Jeanie uncertainly wavering, before he finally met her gaze again and added with a bit more volume, "Go back to sleep."

Jeanie halted, wanting to say something suddenly, gaze softening, grip on her blanket loosening. But, instead of speaking, she instead relaxed backwards, form softening as it fell back to lean against Daryl's steady front, hand pulling her blanket back up, eyes already feeling heavy. She paused a moment longer, wavering on the steady pull of a deep sleep, and then only managed a grateful, soft whisper of "Thank you," before her voice slipped away.

As she finally started to drift off into a world of calm darkness, Jeanie could've sworn she felt a hand brush a strand of hair from her face and a quiet murmur of " _Stupid_ ," softly pass over her ear.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoyed! Leave a comment, if you fancy.


	17. Chapter 17: The Beginning of an End

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Daryl and Jeanie share a moment - before the group suffers an irrevocable blow.

Chapter 17 – The Beginning of an End

"Here."

Blinking with slight surprise at being so abruptly lifted out of her inwards leaning thoughts, Jeanie let the empty lighter in her hands fall back to the overflowing suitcase she was ruffling through. Turning, she shielded her eyes from a passing ray of sharp sunlight, and was met with Daryl's tall form, his expression as gruff as ever as he held out something to her. Upon finding what it was he was offering her, she smiled and let her hand fall away from its guard post, taking it from him with a grateful and relieved, "Thanks." Popping open the bottle of water and gulping down a few measures, silent for a moment as she savoured the refreshment, uncaring that it was lukewarm in all the stifling heat, she asked, "Where'd you get this?"

Finishing his own bottle, Daryl crinkled it up and threw it back over his shoulder, cricking his neck as he answered, "Found a couple in a car back there. Not much else in there, but whatever – it's somethin'."

Jeanie nodded, "Definitely. Well, thanks – I appreciate it." It was nice to know that, upon finding some source of respite from the grating dehydration of the Georgian summer he had decided to share it with her, instead of extending his own relief. The thought made her smile and turn fully away from the car trunk she had been leaning against, abandoning the stuffed bags generally filled with useless trinkets and other such pretty nick-nacks that bemused her in the priority they had been placed at during the end of the world. Looking over Daryl's shoulder to find everyone still rummaging around their own surroundings, her gaze lingered on Dale as he fiddled with the machinery under the hood of the Winnebago, looking quite stressed at the steam rising up out of the engine. Glenn had quickly found the radiator hose he had been hankering after for a while, but Dale had been quite vocal about the fact that it was unlikely the engine would hold out much longer – the parts having been quite outdated and not completely infallible even before they had piled into it 24 hours a day for the duration of the apocalypse. While they all waited for him to finish up the last of his repairs, they decided to scavenge what they could from the graveyard – vehicular and otherwise – they had found themselves in the middle of, Lori's complaint of the immorality of the act outweighed by their need for supplies.

Just at that thought, Jeanie spotted Lori exclaim quite happily as she pulled out a relatively untouched sundress in her size from the back of a convertible, the slight form of Carol wavering uncertainly off to her side with a garment of her own, and so furrowed her brow for a moment at the sudden turn of interest in the woman before turning firmly away to give Daryl a smile and ask softly, "Want to go looking about together?"

Rather than reply, Daryl just nodded, and they turned to stride forward together, up at the back of the general group as usual. They ignored cars with the decimated remains of people and evidence of brutal attacks generally, neither wishing to linger on the disturbing sights. Back up behind them, nearer the RV, Glenn seemed to have discovered a bag full of firecrackers, and now Carl was quite happily throwing them to the tarmac with him, delighted to have a bit of fun, trying to get the ever shy Sophia to join in with him. Jeanie smiled at the sound, finding comfort in the lively noise as she reached a sizable looking truck that seemed ripe for the picking, both she and Daryl hopping up to the inside of it after checking to make sure no walkers were about to jump out at them. Settling in the front seat, Daryl rested his feet up on the dashboard of the vehicle as he pulled a rucksack up to him and started to rummage roughly through it, eyes sharply on the lookout for anything useful. Jeanie plopped down onto the backseat, happy to have a bit of leg room as she looked away from the sombre form of T-Dog milling away by himself up the road from them, frowning at his slumped reflection in the sideview mirror she was peering at before she turned firmly away with the decision to let the man deal with his grief over Jacqui as he saw fit, and picked up a couple of small, lady-like suitcases from the grimy floor. Popping the first of the hand-bags open, she was faced with a deluge of lace, and, quite surprised, was halted for a moment before she eventually managed to push past her disbelief at the dainty clothing that would be better served to a wedding than the end of the world and hesitantly started to thumb through it all.

"You feelin' okay now?"

Looking up from a bundle of fragile little petticoats she was clutching, Jeanie answered Daryl's gruff inquiry with a smile, the vague reflection of him in the dusty windscreen showing him intent in his pursuit of supplies, "Much better," her smile softened as her answer faded, the little cloud of dust it had blown up dissipating languidly before she added, voice falling, "thanks."

She thought she could see him furrow his brow as he continued to rummage through his rucksack, shoving some empty cans out onto the seat beside him, boots streaking a bit of mud over the defunct looking car radio as he replied, "Y'don't need to keep saying that: it's fine."

Daryl had watched over her for a long while in the back of the Winnebago, allowing her to sleep against him for many hours as they travelled. It was only when the group at the front of the RV realised that Jeanie was awake again that he left her, slipping off when she was distracted by Glenn's awkward sort of examination of her head, T-Dog standing quietly off to the side of him, Dale's relieved voice covering the sound of the door closing behind Daryl as he left to rev up his brother's old motorbike. Jeanie couldn't guess why he felt the need to do that when he had been fine with sitting there for hours on end, but she didn't bring it up to anyone, remaining quiet at the back, Glenn enthusiastically providing a one-sided conversation which she could relax against, responding with a soft 'yeah' or 'sure' every now and then. It went like this for quite a while, Glenn eventually quieting and staring out of the filthy window beside them until he dozed off, leaving Jeanie alone with her quiet thoughts, finally starting to absorb fully all that had happened during the last few days. She barely noticed when the RV trundled to a stop, surprised that the sky had turned bright again from her last glance of its darkness, as a sharp clatter and a hiss from the front hood signalled that their group were going to remain in their positions for a while yet.

Giving up on the frankly useless bundle in her hands, Jeanie snapped the handbag shut and placed it back on the floor, pulling another suitcase to her that thankfully looked a bit more promising than her prior choice as she answered good-naturedly, "Well, I want to say it – so I suppose you'll just have to deal with it."

Daryl scoffed, seeming to be a pleasantly surprised at her light-heartedness, not really having seen her be so jokey since everything had gone so wrong back at their old camp. Smirking back at her for a moment over his seat, he posed a drawling, "Will I?"

"Yes," she replied firmly, lips quirking up into a warm smile, "You will." They lapsed into a silence, albeit a comfortable sort of one, and continued to rummage through their loads before Jeanie asked lightly, "By the way, I was wondering: do you think you could teach me how to ride your bike?"

He quirked a brow, "Planning on driving off without me?"

She shrugged lightly, trying to ignore a bloodstained little book entitled 'Family Photos' tucked carefully away amongst some clothes, "I just always wanted to try, that's all. But I only know how to drive cars – and I don't even get to do that often, really. Could never afford my own before all this, and now we're packed into the RV 24/7," she hastened, "not that I'm complaining. But it'd be nice to learn: something to do when we've settled someplace," she paused, brow denting for a moment before she concluded quietly, "it'd be nice."

After a moment of watching her painstakingly pick apart the suitcase and pocket anything useful, he turned back to his own and replied easily, "Fine. Whatever." He finished up with his own rucksack, so tossed it to the floor and started to thump open the car drawers, swiping up a somewhat useful looking map as he told her, "You'll have to find a helmet, though."

Stopping for a moment at that, Jeanie frowned, denting her brow slightly, "Where will we find one of th– " She stopped herself before finishing, realising that she was surrounded by a whole ocean of potential finds, especially of the vehicular sort. However, upon abandoning that thread, she brought up another, stuffing a little tube of antiseptic cream and other such useful supplies into her bag as she did, "Well, how come you don't wear one?"

He scowled slightly in response, "Doesn't matter what I do; matters what you do. I ain't letting you within a hundred yards of that thing 'less I know you aren't gonna crack your head and die if you go on it. That'd be a fuckin' shitty way to die during the end of the world."

"Alright," she looked back down to the suitcase, adding, "but if I wear one, you wear one."

A scoff was her only answer for a moment before he slammed another empty drawer shut and turned fully to her in his seat, lifting his dirt-caked boots from the dash, "Fine: if it shuts you up, I will. You have to find them both though, I ain't doin' that."

She glanced up for only a moment, pushing a ripped blanket out of her way before quietly murmuring with a soft laugh, "I'll make yours pink."

Just as she said that, she halted abruptly in her task, hands immediately stopping what they were doing as she finally managed to release what she had been trying to unwedge from a cluster of different objects and lifted it up before her, the sight of it stopping her instantly. Before she had managed to drop it though, Daryl had already gotten a very good look at what it was and the damage was done, so her mortified attempt to rid herself of it by studding it instantly back where she had found it failed. Her hope that he would just pretend he hadn't seen it was bluntly dashed on the spot as he faced her head-on and gave a deeply amused drawl of, "Never seen a girl turn so red," his grin edged up a bit, becoming something of a smirk at her expense, "Actin' like you've never seen one before."

She stared at him for a moment, her cheeks unnaturally dark and nearly throbbing with her embarrassment, before she managed to flick her eyes away and respond with a deeply shocked, "...Why?"

He quirked an eyebrow, "What d'you mean 'why'? Ain't it obvious? Single woman out on the road, would probably get a bit lonel-"

"- _No,"_ she shook her head, as if to shake away the mental image, "I know _why._ But...why would you take that with you when the world is collapsing? I mean, I-" her flushed skin started to fade back to its natural colour as she shifted back in her seat and let the suitcase fall away onto the floor with a rattle of its bizarre contents, falling silent. After a moment of saying nothing, staring out into an indeterminate distance, a strange sort of sound abruptly burst from her, and it took Daryl a second to realise she was laughing through a combination of embarrassment and utter shock, furthering his amusement as she spluttered out unevenly, "I just don't get people sometimes – really, I just – can't even think of anything to..."

She gave up on finishing her sentence, her gesturing hand falling as she shook her head deeply, a distracted limb reaching out to pop the door open as she jumped out and slowly walked away from the truck, a barely audible, ' _honestly_ ' floating after her as Daryl swiftly abandoned what he was doing and followed, the door swinging shut behind him as his grin widened. They started to walk down the line of cars again, the voices of everybody starting to fade away as they became more absorbed in their conversation, the nearest person being the still steadfastly silent T-Dog who was slowly sifting through a damaged looking hiking bag a bit away from them. Just as Jeanie thought that might be the end of the bizarre experience, Daryl cut in with a query that was tinged openly with enjoyment, "Want somethin' to wipe your hands? Don't know where that thing's been...well, actually-"

To stop his words before they finished, Jeanie abruptly swivelled and opened the nearest car door, hoping that something promising might be inside so it would at least seem like she was just trying to be useful. Luckily, in the grimy backseat a dusty looking torch and a little bag with a few wires poking out of it caught her eye, and she had an excuse to shift inwards, starting to crawl in.

Not daring to glance back at him for fear her skin would flare up again with mortification, she blatantly changed the subject, "Hope everyone else is doing better than us," leaning over the sticky leather, she carefully pushed the flashlight into a side-pouch of her rucksack before pulling the bag towards herself, peering inside to find what looked like some kind of music device which she pocketed after a moment, unsure of whether to smile at the unexpected discovery or frown at not finding a more useful tool. Shaking the bag to ensure she wouldn't miss anything additional, prompting naught but a crinkled pack of tissues and a dirt-streaked mobile phone to fall out onto a blanket that lay strewn over one side of the seat, she let it fall back to the floor and started to shift back again, "I mean, I got some batteries and stuff at that truck, but there weren't any medical suppl-"

Before Jeanie had time to finish her sentence, a sudden weight smashed into her back and shoved her inwards, her bent arms collapsing at the strength of it and crashing up against the opposite door, trapping her against the leather as her words died abruptly on her lips, the air knocked out of her with the abruptness of it all. Her muscles all flinched and she managed to flip around somewhat against the strong grip holding her down, head whipping back instinctually to face her attacker as her hand flew back for her machete; before she stopped as soon as she had started in her fright. Instead of some unknown attacker who had somehow managed to sneak up and trap her beneath him, Daryl was above her, body crushed against hers, face hovering but an inch above her own, eyes suddenly too sharp from their earlier relaxation. Jeanie stared at him in shocked, confused silence, hand falling away from her weapon, eyes wide, body stuck between tensing all the more and relaxing as she recognised his familiar features. Her usually quick mind slowed to a crawl and left her wordless, her left hand that had instinctually jumped up to grip Daryl's arm loosening from its tense clench but unable to let go, leaving her clinging to him in silence.

All the minutiae of this strange event stretched across only a couple of seconds, but it felt far, far longer. By the time Daryl wordlessly snapped a hand back to shut the door behind him with a silent click, an entire day could have passed, a new dawn approaching when he leaned further down and muttered an intense growl of a word lowly against her ear, "Walkers."

A scarce, tiny second passed with naught but the sound of Jeanie's flushed breath pressing against his cheek before the realisation of what was happening dawned on her, tensing her once more as her wits returned to her, mind racing as she whispered a sharp, "How many?"

"A lot." his replying murmur did little to calm her jumping muscles, which were screaming at her to move out and make sure everyone was safe – but he seemed to sense this before she voiced it, firmly biting out, "Stay down."

She clenched her jaw, head shaking slightly against his shoulder as she breathed an intense reply, voice growing firm to match his own, "We need to make sure everybody is oka-"

"-They ducked under cars: the walkers can't seem 'em."

She halted for a moment at this reassuring answer, still twitching to make a move, but somewhat relieved. She didn't have long to soak in this relative reassurance, however, before the rotten remains of corpse suddenly stumbled into view, its short stature edging out a sharp hiss from her as she realised that she and Daryl were still within its line of sight. This in mind, she pulled him down into her further, a barely audible breath of, "They can see us," hitching up against him as he tightened his grip around her, a low curse rolling against her ear. A soft thump came from behind them as one of the shambling dead stumbled against the side of the door, hitching their tensed muscles up further, prompting Daryl to wordlessly rise up slightly, alarming Jeanie for a moment before he whispered a low ' _Get down_ ,' and began to carefully push her out from underneath him, his aim to get her safely hidden on the floor of the car dawning on her after a moment and causing her to quietly shift a moment, she managed to push herself downwards to silently hit the floor, safely hidden away from the lethal gaze of the dead.

Looking upwards, she found Daryl pressing himself up tightly against the cheap faux leather, teeth bared in a edgy grimace as more walkers began to move by, a steady stream of their bloated bodies flowing out around them. He was still in their line of sight, she realised with a strained sort of gasp, brow furrowing deeply as she bit her tongue in an effort to keep silent against her dangerous revelation. Daryl's sharp ears heard her, and he turned down to her, intense eyes meeting hers, the unspoken command to stay right where she was understood implicitly; and wordlessly defied. With a whisper of, " _I'll get under the dash_ ," she rolled upwards and began to painstakingly pull herself over the middle of the separator dividing the front seats from the back, deftly avoiding Daryl's shooting out hand that tried to pull her back and ignoring his sharp curse as she wriggled up over the hard plastic that dug sharply into her ribs, eyes darting from side to side to make sure she hadn't been spotted.

However, instead of finding a walker's milky eyes staring back at her, she found T-Dog's. She halted in the moment before she was about to slip underneath the dust-caked steering wheel and stared at him in shock, eyes widening as she realised that he was in plain view of any walker that passed by, before she abruptly noticed the river of blood pouring down in thick rivulets over his arm.

Whipping her gaze sharply back up to his, finding his gaze wide and pleading, it didn't even take her a second of consideration before she shot out her hand, shoved the door open, and rolled out of the car.

She could almost hear Daryl's sharp intonation of, ' _Jeanie_ - _!_ ' behind her before she was gone, pushing herself up over the filthy tarmac and crouching her form low as she sprinted round the series of cars they'd passed only minutes before, hand whipping her machete out before her as she rushed silently past the cover of abandoned vehicles. T-Dog tried to stumble up as she slid silently into his view, a weak hand awash with his own blood reaching out shakily for her as she approached before he sank heavily backwards, brow denting deeply and expression clenching tightly with agony as he tried to remain silent, Jeanie's form tightening and speeding up as she glanced at his wound, the sharp severity of it startling. Finally, she managed to reach him, stopping her momentum and skidding to a stop before him, immediately at his side. He babbled quietly to her for a moment before she shushed him gently, a hand coming out to firmly cover his wound in an attempt to stem the flow of blood as she whipped her gaze about quickly, trying to find a hiding spot. She had a feeling that if she rolled him under the bottom of the car he was leaning so heavily against, he might not get back out: so harsh was the flow of blood now billowing at her fingertips. The whole situation was curdling in memories of how she received the thick scar along her arm, reminding her of the strong pull of darkness when so lethal an injury was sustained, and it made her reluctant to make any move for fear of worsening his condition. However, she had little choice. Time was running out: walkers were piling in, and they would soon be discovered.

Just as that pressurising thought dented her form and forced her arm out to pull T-Dog upwards, he gave a startled gasp and a footstep flashed up on her senses, whipping her around with her machete rising up to fend off any attacker – only to find Daryl behind her, tall form crouched down as he brought a hand up to signal her quiet. She acquiesced immediately, carefully lowering T-Dog back down as Daryl wordlessly signalled her to get down, flinching as he punched a door open to grab something, pulling back to reveal a skeletal corpse which he yanked back to fall before them. After a moment of confusion, Jeanie realised that he was utilising their collective knowledge of corpses masking their scent from walkers, and so lay T-Dog down before pulling the stiff body over to cover his flinching form. Turning back, she found Daryl quickly throwing himself to the ground at her side, and a corpse was suddenly over her, its rotten form clenching her expression and making her eyes water with its overpowering stench as he adjusted his own disguise.

They were covered not a moment too soon – just as Daryl shifted into Jeanie's side and she brought a hand out to cover T-Dog's arm once more, a walker stumbled around the car, followed by five others which would surely have overpowered them. They trundled past at an agonising pace, minutes passing with nothing but their uneven footsteps shuffling over the dirt, their droaning moans filling the air above them before their forms began to disappear from the small group's dented line of vision, the vehicular graveyard they were buried in hiding the mob's stumbling exit. Before they had a chance to relax, however, a piercing clatter and a blood-curdling, terrifyingly familiar shriek pierced the air.

**_Sophia._ **

All the air in Jeanie's chest abruptly withdrew in a vacuum of fright. She froze completely where she lay, grip tightening painfully over T-Dog's wound, form tensing. A walker stumbled across her fixed field of vision, her head unable to move without drawing attention to herself and endangering the men at her sides, forcing her gaze to stay where it was at a point above a bland, broken down car, framed by corpses and tree-tops. She jittered inwardly, fighting to control her unstable breathing as it hitched further and further up, fingers trembling about, teeth clenching audibly together as the logical reign of her head struck back at her reeling need to do something, pulling back the reins on the agonisingly powerful pull to get up and run to her, her own mortality be damned.

She felt Daryl tighten beside her, where he had flung his arm across the corpse atop her to ensure her coverage, knowing without looking that he was grimacing bitterly and biting back a holler to the imperative girl, who was yelping and crying out alone as her rapid footsteps echoed about them, all of them unable to make a sound for fear of death. The piercing noise of her cries alone had drawn dangerous attention, a terrifying myriad of lumbering forms snarling and tumbling over themselves to make chase after her as she sprinted across a length of cars, veering in and out of busted vehicles.

The inability to see what was going on made it all the worse - her mind took the blank space of her vision where she wished Sophia could be, safe and sound, and rendered within it a terrifyingly possible tableaux of the young girl in the midst of being feasted upon by monsters. She tried to ignore it, brain straining to shut down its own creation, but the symphony of rebounding screeches about them sharpened every detail and highlighted every blood-splatter, red staining all she could see. She wanted to move. She wanted to run. She wanted to run _to Sophia._ She _had_ to run to Sophia.

But she couldn't.

She was stuck.

Helpless.

Useless.

Without warning, Sophia's voice veered away, falling, echoing off into the distance as a trail of living corpses howled eternally after her. Without a pause, another of the group - an adult, Jeanie thought without looking, certainly Rick - crawled out of hiding and sprinted after her. His footsteps faded off in the same direction, leaving an awful silence in his wake.

Slowly, the group began to crawl steadily out from hiding. Jeanie remained where she was, unable to bring her suddenly dead-weighted body upwards, leaving her blankly maintaining her grip on T-Dog with Daryl frighteningly wordless beside her. No one spoke a word.

And then the awful, unspeakably agonising cry of a mother without her child began to crescendo, ringing out all around them, echoing around the rotting carcass of civilisation, a howl of terrible, desperate anguish.

Jeanie slumped further to the ground, face crushing against the searing pavement, eyes blankly boring into the filth. 

Useless.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Always get sad about this bit. Hope you did too, haha! All comments welcome.


	18. Chapter 18: Simmering

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tensions mount, and Jeanie begins to fray under the pressure.

Chapter 18 - Simmering

Ever since Sophia had disappeared, Jeanie and Daryl hadn't exchanged a single word.

It wasn't a conscious thing. Neither was angry or upset with the other. But both of them were utterly tangled in the fate of the young girl, and unable to extract themselves for even a moment of contact. Jeanie had withdrawn into herself, avoiding most social situations and eating alone whenever possible, only able to shake off Glenn's repeated attempts to bring her back by the distraction the new girl, Maggie, provided. Everyone else let her be, unsure of what to say or too caught up in their own troubles to pursue her much outside of their relatively weak attempts to encourage her attendance at social gatherings. She lingered around Carol when she could muster up some strength in herself to walk about the farm, mute, watching over the woman as she mourned over the undetermined fate of her only daughter. Whenever the men went out to search, she was the first at the meeting spot. But she usually ended up wandering off on her own when they reached the point where people split into parting teams, intensely scraping over every inch of her own mile long square of forest, only coming back to the farm in the dead of night when it would be fatal to continue her search, bruised and dirt-caked over every inch of exposed skin, eyes turned downwards as she retired to her separate tent on the edges of the camp. Sometimes, when everybody else was still sleeping in the early hours of the morning, she would wake up, unable to sleep any longer as her dreams assailed her with horrible possibilities, pushing her up to hook on her belt and machete and traverse out to look some more by herself. She looked tired lately. Exhausted in more than one way.

Daryl probably seemed as much the same as usual to people who didn't know him that well – antisocial, gruff, purposefully separating himself whenever possible. But there was something clinging to him that was different than before. He too lingered around Carol, expression a bit less hard but all the more withdrawn. He made it no secret that he was invested in this search effort, going out whenever he could even if no-one else was joining him. He and Jeanie probably crossed paths without realising in their searches, each passing into the other's territory before finding the nailed flags that signalled a searched area and turning around to doggedly crawl through another section. The drama of the others – Lori's strange nervousness, Glenn's confusion, Shane and Rick's underlying conflict – faded into the background. It seemed that if they could just find Sophia, everything would be okay again.

Jeanie knew they probably wouldn't find her.

She wasn't stupid. Although she hoped for it more than she had ever hoped for anything in her life, she knew a happy ending was agonisingly unlikely. She'd just seen too much to be able to delude herself anymore about things turning out like she wanted them to – like they should. That's why she didn't try to speak to Carol when everyone else fed her the soft assurances that were more for their own benefit than hers: she couldn't bring herself to make such a bare-faced lie to the woman's face, however well-intentioned it was. It would be so painfully obvious to everyone looking in that she didn't really believe what she was saying, that she was just spouting false comforts when she herself wavered. So she just stayed quiet.

It was all she could do to sit down and avoid everyone else after another fruitless day of searching for Sophia, sitting round the back of the farm and away from the segregated campsite of her impromptu family. Sweat had been pouring from her all day, too much for even the heat they were in. She was starting to suspect the lack of sleep was catching up on her – she hoped she wasn't ill, or else she'd surely be forced by Rick or Glenn to step away from the search effort. She wouldn't be able to stand that if it happened. She had to help somehow, in some way. To be safe, she'd have to drink a lot of water and eat some fruit or something, to get some vitamins.

That thought in mind, she got up and slowly plodded over to front porch of the farmstead, quietly stepping up over the dusty steps to stand before the screen door, hesitantly chapping on the frame. A head poked out into the hall – Bethany, the youngest of Hershel's daughters. She smiled at Jeanie and wordlessly invited her in with a little jerk of her head. Jeanie gave a good attempt at a smile back, entering and closing the door behind her. Arriving at the kitchen, she found Lori hard at work washing some dishes Patricia had lent her – if Andrea was around, she would scoff with contempt.

Upon Jeanie's first step in, Lori turned, a tired smile on her face, about to make a friendly address; but then when she realised who it was, her expression dropped a bit, embarrassed, and she turned back to what she was doing with a quiet mutter of a forced greeting. Murmuring her own dutiful greeting, Jeanie walked up by her side and quietly took a glass, filling it quickly whilst the woman silently moved away to allow her access to the tap. Glugging it down with a quickness that surprised herself – she was even thirstier than she had thought – she walked over to a cupboard to withdraw a dusty little can of peaches, opening it quickly and sitting down at the table to force it down her disinterested gullet.

"Hey, Jeanie?"

Jeanie looked up at her name, expression lifted in surprise when she realised that it was Lori. She found the woman standing before her, fidgeting uncomfortably, gaze uncertain as she waited for her reaction, seeming to have steeled herself for a rebuttal. Trying to contain her shock from showing in her face, Jeanie gulped down the last little sliver of peach she had been chewing on, quietly setting her fork down with a clink on the table as she gave a little nod, prompting forth the deeply uncomfortable looking woman, "I was just wondering..." she paused, fingers clenching tightly over one another, "Could you make a run into town for me? ...Soon?"

Struck, Jeanie stared up at her for a moment, silenced by the surprise of Lori actually coming to her for help. Eventually her brow furrowed and she posed something of a gentle question, straightening in her chair, "I thought you would prefer to have Glenn get supplies for you?" The unspoken addition pointing out the woman's lack of trust in her hung in the air between them.

Lori looked away. She was starting to worry Jeanie somewhat with her behaviour – she tried to rationalise the strangeness with the fact that Carl was so unwell right now, but it didn't really seem to be related to that, in all honesty. Although Lori was worn and tired, she didn't have the same look of raw anguish as she did when her son was on the edge of death. Finally, a stunted, slightly withheld response came to her question, "There're some things I'd rather keep private from Glenn, if possible. And...I trust you won't talk about it to anyone else."

That didn't really help much in the way of an explanation, even if it was true that Jeanie would withhold any and all details about what she wanted if asked. Glenn was a singularly trustworthy person, no question about it. He'd always been absolutely loyal in collecting supplies for the group, and no longer flinched at intimate sorts of requests that involved the opposite sex's personal hygiene and other such awkward acquisitions. He was still conducting runs into the nearby township as recently as yesterday for all of the camp, including Lori. What was so bad that she felt the need to skim over him and stoop herself to Jeanie's aid? It felt to her like she was a pawn in some conspiracy of sorts: lacking inside knowledge but tasked with the dirty work that the higher ups wouldn't do. She tried not to think like that. Lori could be tough to deal with sometimes, but she wasn't outright _manipulative_. God, Jeanie needed some sleep in her. She was beginning to see things which weren't there.

That thought in mind, she gave a dutiful nod and replied carefully, "Alright. I'll go in half an hour or so," that would give her time for a nap hopefully, so she wouldn't collapse in the middle of the abandoned town and leave herself frighteningly vulnerable to a horde, "What do you need me to get?"

However, just as Lori opened her mouth to answer with a resigned sigh of air, Shane walked into the kitchen. Her mouth shut immediately as his dusty form strode in, his dark expression immediately changing the atmosphere of the room and paling Lori's skin as she abruptly turned away to quickly fiddle with a tray she had been putting together, Jeanie suddenly pushed to the wayside. Not needing to be told not to say anything with the nigglingly tense man in the room, Jeanie stood, offering to take the tray through to Carl before backing away at Lori's quietly curt assurance that she would be fine, watching as the woman left as quickly as Shane had arrived.

Turning to look at the man in question and finding him staring after Lori, Jeanie took a moment to uncertainly observe his misguided attentiveness before asking quietly, "Did you find anything?" Of course she knew he hadn't: if he had, there would have been utter chaos outside as everyone celebrated at Sophia's return or the discovery of a clue to her whereabouts. Nevertheless, she wanted to ask, out of a sense of duty, she supposed.

Shane turned at that, expression flashing strangely, gaze narrowing. After an overwrought pause he gave a terse grunt of a reply, "No. Nothing. Same as always."

She stared at him, straightening, gaze growing firm. Neither moved their line of sight an inch, eyes boring into the other as they remained entrenched in silence, the distant clatter of Carol preparing dinner fading into the background. Finally, Shane turned away again, communicating without a word that they were done. Jeanie waited a moment longer, hand clenching tightly on her belt, and then left, the door swinging shut behind her with a quiet thump before it clicked back in place.

Shane was beginning to grate on Jeanie. Not in the sense that he annoyed her; but in that he pushed her onto the edge. When they had first met, he seemed a reasonable man, willing to listen and a relatively calm figure she could converse with. Now, however, there was something about him, whether it was his darkened eyes, tensed form or conflicting opinions that made every moment she was around him clenched with unease, her instinct edging her towards the desire to get away from him and never return. She was starting to think she wasn't alone in this feeling. Even Rick seemed a bit more wary of the man, lately. She was leaning more towards the latter man in the proposal of group decisions now – ever since there'd been a conflict of interests she had, but now it was far, far more pronounced. The group was ill at ease for more than one reason, that was for sure.

Turning a corner, she was met with the sight of another tense discussion which edged her shoulders up, pushing her to the side slightly as she caught the end tail of the conversation. Rick glanced away from Hershel's drawn face to Jeanie's for a moment before the men finished, parting ways, Rick striding up to Jeanie's side.

After a moment, she broached part of the subject she had inadvertently eavesdropped upon, ignoring the other end which she pushed aside as none of her business, "Daryl's still not back?"

Rick seemed to appreciate her ignoring Hershel's brusque command for the two intermingled groups to fully segregate themselves, beginning to walk again as he gave a lofty reply, "Thought you'd be the first to know that."

She didn't respond as she met his large strides, giving the barest of shrugs and looking away. Rick's expression softened a bit at her reaction. Everybody had taken some notice of the pair's lacking communication as of late; but it was hard to be supportive or helpful with them when the attention of the group was divided so strongly between the overlying absence of Sophia and an amalgamation of personal problems. He just assumed the situation was straining on everyone. It was a shame for the young pair – they seemed to have been getting along well before the horrible situation had hit. He distinctly remembered them both laughing together as they strode alongside each other in the few minutes before the horde passed through the vehicular graveyard they were entrenched in, having smiled at the sight before his expression dropped at what was crawling towards them over the horizon. Now they had taken a clear step back, both withdrawing from the world and each other. Maybe he would talk to Daryl upon his return and try to help nudge them back together – god knows they could both do with some stabilising element now.

"Have you talked to him lately?"

He looked up to find her intently waiting for an answer, expression withheld somewhat. With a measure of carefulness, he answered her plainly, "Here and there when we're starting the morning searches. He's pretty focused right now," he paused before pointing out gently, "but so are you."

She gave a small, admitting nod. After a brief moment, she brought a hand up to rub at her temple and replied with a tired murmur, "It's hard not to be, lately. ...I'm sorry."

He shook his head, responding immediately, "Don't be. However you deal with this is fine – we're all on the same boat, here. Everybody's a bit..."

"...tense," she finished, thinking back to just a few minutes before, "I know."

A silence engulfed them as they rounded the house. In an attempt to alleviate this, Rick continued the conversation, giving a comforting reassurance, "Daryl's out on a horse, remember – that's what Hershel was mad about. He's probably just taking a bit longer resting it in this heat, don't worry."

"Yeah," her voice was barely audible as she murmured a dutiful reply that was voiced more for his reassurance than her own, "you're probably right."

They stopped outside the house, Rick taking a brief look inside before Jeanie glanced up and recognised that he was scouting out who was there, softly providing an answer for him, "Shane's there," he looked to her, brow furrowing, "Lori too." He frowned, gaze darkening as his thoughts retreated, mind turning inwards. Seeing this, Jeanie took a step back and stretched out her shoulders as she decided suddenly, "I'm gonna go out to the woods for a while. Just for a look," he nodded vaguely, still distracted as she added, "Tell Lori that I'll speak to her later on."

He looked up at that, confused, "Lori?"

"Yes," she paused for a moment, wondering if she should elaborate before finishing with a decisively calm, "she asked me to help her out with some cleaning later, when I'm not busy."

He stared at her. He and Jeanie were both quite forthright people most times, and each appreciated that about the other. They never had the need to lie to each other before. But they also had another aspect to their personalities that they both shared: both of them knew when to let something be: when not to pry. That's why, after a still little moment, he gave her a calm nod.

It seemed that would be the end of their conversation, the times for them to part ways – and it would have been if it wasn't for Rick giving her a final glance over just before he was about to turn away. Furrowing his brow, he asked, "You alright, Jeanie? You're lookin' a bit – out of sorts."

He was right – her skin seemed slightly clammy, and her gaze was less focused than usual. Even the grip she had on the edge of her belt seemed weaker than he was used to seeing. Her posture was slumped and without the normal attentiveness she upheld every day. It was almost like he could just lift a hand to bowl her over.

Despite this, however, Jeanie shook her head, able to inject enough energy into her answer that Rick didn't feel the overwhelming need to halt her from leaving, "I'm fine, Rick – don't worry. I'll be okay."

With that, she flashed him a final attempt at reassurance and was gone, leaving him staring after her for a moment longer before he gave a sigh and turned to resign himself to the pressure stove of unresolved tension that he was about to walk into. She straightened up somewhat along her path, stopping only at the side of her tent to pick up her machete and notch it into the little loop she had carved into the leather strip, along with a canteen of water and a candy bar – on the off chance she achieved her unlikely goal and found Sophia alive and hungry. She wasn't only going out for Sophia though, she had to admit to herself – even though she felt a bit bad at dividing her attention – but also to find Daryl, if he wasn't already on his way back. To make sure he was okay.

He was probably just doing as much as Rick said – resting the horse and taking a while to get back. But she couldn't ignore feeling niggling at her as she reached the end of the beaten farm path that something was wrong.

...Well, one thing was for sure, at least: if he _was_ in trouble, she'd pull him out of it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Daryl-centric chapter, next...hope you enjoyed this! Leave a comment!


	19. Chapter 19: Black and Red

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Daryl awakes to a whole lot of chaos, and a face he never thought he'd see again.

Chapter 19 – Black and Red

Slowly, catching in the folds of his ripped shirt and skipping over the exposed canines of his upper jaw, water flowed over Daryl's face.

He couldn't move. If it wasn't for the fact that his head was so fucked that the very concept of 'moving' couldn't quite register in the fuzzy, useless haze of his thoughts, that realisation might've frightened him. At least aggravated him. Instead, he remained where he was, as still as before his questionable awakening as a river flowed around him. If it weren't for a sound, a very specific, startling noise that trailed up from the distance to pad heavily to a stop before him, he probably wouldn't have ever woken up.

"...So. You've become a pussy, ain't ya."

The strength with which Daryl's entire body flinched was almost enough to send him back into unconsciousness. His eyes snapped open, and the world poured into them without mercy, the sun blotting out his surroundings and rendering him blind as his near-corpse shuddered uselessly for a moment, shocked into nothingness. It was only when the trees around him began to look less like spectres and the screeching ring in his ears dimmed that he saw him. His hand clenched into the hole in his side, all air suddenly vacant from his gasping lungs. He floundered silently where he lay, unable to look away.

His brother watched his every move.

Merle frowned deeply, his patronising grin slipping down and snarling out at the side at Daryl's lack of response, eyes sharpening at his limp form and the exposed expression staring back up at him. He – it, an unsure, shaken voice echoed quietly in the back of Daryl's mind – looked exactly the same as when Daryl had last seen him, that fateful but simultaneously worthless last time he had pulled his brother away from drinking a full bottle of whisky at the deep end of a misjudged downer episode the night before he staggered off with the group to Atlanta, never to return. Same cock-sure gait, same snarling sneer, same knowing, cruel glint to the eyes that mockingly scanned over every falter in his floundering face. His form was hazy, distorted, focussing in and out every few seconds to merge with the pressing image of a grimy lake and razor-cut hillsides dotted with the corpses of long-dead trees. Daryl's head pounded, the sound of rushing water and his own strained breathing twisting about through his aching ears, nauseating him to the point that he almost chucked up his rushed breakfast from that morning over his torso, gulping back the bitter tang of vomit that ebbed up and down his throat unsteadily. His legs, sluggishly trying to pull about under the prompting of some subconscious command from his echoing mind, couldn't move, knees locked and aching, calves reverberating with tenseness. He was trapped. So he just stared.

The frown above deepened at the silence below. A disapproving _tsk_ rang out, followed by a harsh glob of hocked up spit. The quiet dragged onwards.

"...What. Nothin' to say?"

Daryl didn't so much as blink. He couldn't look away. He couldn't stop staring at this thing – this thing that looked like Merle. But it couldn't be Merle. It couldn't be Merle, because Merle was—

He shook out a clogged breath.

"Jeeeeeesus." Disappointment lingered heavily in the air above, the long, drawling hiss echoing about his temple. The thing's brow furrowed, as if with sympathy. "What happened, bro? What happened to that fire in y'r belly? I'm disappointed in you, kid."

Daryl blinked. His head provided nothing for him. He sat in silence, unable to formulate the beginnings of words for what felt like eternity.

"...No." His sight blurred for a moment as he shifted his head, a bit of water trickling into his eyes, "I'm..." He paused. He could be anything. Hallucinating. Crazy. Dead. So he voiced the only thing he thought he knew.

"...You're gone."

The imitation of his brother's head turned slightly, leaning over to one side. The cloned eyes blinked. A sneer crawled up further across the harsh, rugged fakeness that was its skin. But the eyes remained hard as the voice slithered onwards, pupils so all-encompassing that only a sliver of faux iris poked out.

"No thanks to you. Left me up there on that roof 'n all, di'n't ya. ...Talkin' of that..." the edged hum that reverberated from above rung about Daryl's ears strangely, forcing his eyes shut for a moment before he managed to pry them back open and tried to listen to the drifting question that followed, "What was that about anyway, li'l brother? Leavin' like that, I mean? Wouldn't've expected it, honestly – you going off with that pig who left me as a snack for the fuckin' buzzards. Didn't think you'd do that to flesh and blood. But I guess shit like the end of the world changes you, huh?"

The intense urge to vomit reared its head within Daryl's pierced gut. He stared up, fingers clenching indistinctly about his navel, unable to think, only able to feel the intense, all-encompassing horror that was slowly creeping up bit by bit upon his mind. Merle's doppelganger waited patiently, eyes sharper than Daryl remembered, tone just a little bit extra harder than it should be. Finally, at long last, he managed to formulate a response that he wasn't quite sure he believed himself, "We did right by you. We came back. ...Why..." a burst of light pricked pins across his eyes, hand shaking against the bolt that was lodged within him, twitching uncontrollably, "Why didn't you stay, bro?"

A shrug. Merle tutted with a false sort of casualness. "Far as I knew, y'all had fucked off and left me there, dyin' of thirst or eaten by geeks. Tied up there, like that...Wouldn't wish it on my worst enemy. ...Well. Apart from the guy who put me there, 'course. That's a whole different thing right there, ain't it?"

Daryl stared at him. With each passing second, his vision was slipping more and more, the harsh, gritty snarls of his absent brother fading away before thundering back. Merle seemed to notice this, his frame seeming to zoom further into Daryl's own for a moment as he gave a furious growl, eyes flashing, "Go 'n get your ass up and at 'em, little man. I didn't spend all those years on you just to find you become so fuckin' useless. I'm telling you right now: ain't nobody coming to find you if you don't get back before dark. 'part from the ghoulies, that is. So if you wanna see tomorrow," his voice abruptly rose in volume, reverberating about every inch of Daryl's mind, " _Get._ _ **Up.**_ _"_

"You never helped me before," he gulped back a sudden bubble of haze across his vision, brow furrowing tiredly with the effort it had taken him to give such an assured reply, "not really. ...You never cared about me."

Merle's scowl darkened. His expression was becoming more dangerous with each passing second, the hand that shouldn't be there clenching in time with the other in barely contained fury. Finally, leaning further into the musky filth of Daryl's broken form, a mutter snarled past his lips, vicious and cruel, "You think anybody ever has, Daryl? Y'think these people do? ...You think _that girl_ does?"

A pause.

The water of the river abruptly felt much colder than it had before, despite the humid, raw heat of the sun pounding down through the trees. A bug floated over on a twig past Daryl's face, swiping his jaw and getting crushed by the current against his figure. Daryl's leg stopped the twitching it had maintained for the past five minutes.

The face of Merle smirked darkly, knowingly, eyes glinting. Daryl's gaze focussed for a moment, wavering about at the edges, mind suddenly intent.

"...I don't—"

"—You do, bro," a grim smirk, "You do. Cause you're thinkin' with your dick, ain't ya? I know you look at her sometimes, when she can't see. She's alright, ain't she? Real nice. Nice face. Nice _form_ _._ And she ain't given up on you yet, which 's a first. Stuck to ya like crack on a whore's nose even through all this shit. And you wonder sometimes, at night...I get it. But son, you gotta realise somethin'." his face was suddenly an inch, a centimetre, a millimetre above Daryl's own, merging into his form, turning in on his eyes.

"She don't care about you."

Daryl stared. His head was swimming. His eyes were feeling heavier. But his ears heard every syllable. A strange growl was playing in the non-existent wind. He shivered.

"None of them do. None of them ever will. All they'll ever see is a dumb hick; a retarded redneck that don't get appreciated for all the shit he does, no matter how hard he tries." The voice whined into his eye sockets, reverberating around his brain, "They _don't give a shit_ , bro. ...But you don't need her. You don't need any of them. So get the fuck out while you still can, boy. Before they drag you down with them. Before they get you pulled into some shit you can't pull yourself out of. Run."

Merle's voice had been growing in volume, becoming louder and louder to the point that his sound rang throughout all of Daryl's body; but on that last word, something happened. It wasn't Merle's voice anymore. And it wasn't Merle. It was— _who_ —

"—Run, Daryl.

_Run._

_**RUN.** _

_**GET AWAY FROM HIM.**_ "

Roaring, screeching, awful noise, wordless and meaningless, echoed around Daryl's head. His head lolled back, a choked grunt biting out from his gullet, hands clenching about his side, eyelids squeezing shut as the light above grew too much, too strong, too blinding and pain-inducing. As the sound reverberated out from him, a snarl whipped up against his leg and a weight shifted over his calf, fingers pushing in on his ankle and pulling his eyes back down to the sodden weight of his own body, face twisted.

A walker was biting his foot.

With a strangled cry and feeling abruptly flooding back into his body, Daryl flinched back, foot instinctively pushing up to smash into the jaw grinding toothily into the leather of his boot, lurching the rotting head that held it backwards from his leg. For the briefest of moments it stayed there, like a ragdoll caught in its own putrid limbs as Daryl desperately attempted to pull his body up and away to safety; but then, before he could manage even a foot of distance, the head snapped back up and it was on him, snarling and gnashing the air above his face. His beaten arms flew up to buffer it away, stopping it an inch above his nose by clenching his palms into the sides of its matted temple, and a struggle began, held up by Daryl only with the burst of adrenaline lending life to his bruised limbs.

Adrenaline was no match for ever-lasting strength, though. Slowly, Daryl's arms weakened. His hands slipped, sodden from the water and the gore in the things hair. His eyes swivelled out of focus. And then, right as the thing sunk down to sink its teeth into his face, there was a thunderous splash, a thud, a figure dashing across from his right – and its face, the one that had been a centimetre from his own, was split clean in two, drooping at one end as the parallel weights dragged away from each other in a mess of frayed skull shards, rotted tendons and a loose eyeball. It fell away from him, plummeting to the ground, along with the weapon that had destroyed it. Behind it, a figure straightened.

It was Jeanie.

Neither of them had a chance to react to the other – without pause, another walker lurched out from the shadows, arms outstretched for Jeanie's neck; but then Daryl's strength returned with abrupt force and he threw his body up, smashing into its side and rolling with it to the ground, liquid aggression sprinting up into his nerves to mask the stab of the bolt in his side. A rock was suddenly in his hand, kicked over by Jeanie as she turned to face another of the things, and he swiped it up to smash into its skull, two, three, four times – and then it stopped moving entirely, slumped and broken at his feet, its brain splattered on his shoes.

Jeanie's voice rang out behind him in some wordless, strained cry, and he turned to see her just manage to kick away the last walker, machete coming free from her grip to stick in its shoulder blade as she yelled thunderously, " _Crossbow!_ "

Abandoning the halved, beaten rock in a pile of black blood, Daryl sprinted to the water, hands thrusting into the current, grasping out for his fallen weapon. Brambles caught on his fingertips, water washing over his elbows as nothing but liquid passed through his grip, twigs pitching up and stabbing into his outstretched thumbs as he desperately, furiously searched.

" _Daryl!_ "

Another loud thump sounded at his back as Jeanie smashed her foot forward once again, cracking a rib on the thing before her. The snarling was growing louder to his ears, closing in as she was edged back bit by bit towards him and the slimy bank, feet slipping as another kick, clumsier and weaker than before, connected.

" _ **Daryl!**_ "

The tip of his finger skipped over a familiar grip and he sank his hand in to grab it, the other taking hold of the bolt in his side without a thought and pulling it out, shoving it into the crossbow and throwing the thing to Jeanie's outstretched hand before she turned, pulled it up, and let it loose. Without a grunt more, the walker collapsed before them in a splash of mud and bile.

For a long moment, there was nothing more than a cacophony of strained gasping, heavy gulps of air edging about and puffing their chests shakily upwards as they attempted to steady themselves, the bubbling of the uncaring river calmly flowing about them both, seeming to mock the violence of the last few moments. He stared at her tensed form, watching the black blood drip slowly down the crook of her turned neck as she silently stared out around them, eyes darting about, fingers twitching over the crossbow. The deluge of animalistic roars and yelps faded, the surrounding wildlife quietening as the smarter of the creatures ran as far as they could from the trouble.

Then she turned, and a blurred moment later he was in her arms, unsure how he had managed the few steps in her direction it took for him to sink into her heavily, legs collapsing halfway as his hand flew round to cup his side, expression shifting into a strained grimace. Her arms were immediately there to catch him, pulling him towards her as she stumbled half a step back before steadying, face brushing against his neck as his own pressed heavily into her shoulder, eyes clenched shut, breaths coming out strained and muffled against the filthy material of her ripped tank top, past the point of feeling any sort of discomfort with their closeness. This alone tensed Jeanie all the more, and soon, with a quiet, reassuring murmur into his ear, she lowered him down to the ground with her, shifting his hand aside to look at the wound for herself, free hand pushing his crossbow up to hook over her shoulder before coming back to rest against the side of his neck. He opened his eyes at the contact, flinching slightly when she brushed over the outer edges of his wound, trying to distract himself with staring up into her face as she intensely studied his form. He was sure it was bad – it certainly fucking felt that way. However, her expression remained unreadable, barely shifting. The only difference he noted was a miniscule tightening of her lips, which evened carefully out when she realised he was gauging her reaction.

She looked up into his eyes, hands softly taking hold of either side of his face (he briefly realised that they had played out such a routine before with the roles reversed back at the CDC, and mentally flinched) searching for any sign of concussion. Before he had a chance to verbally assuage this worry – even though his head was swimming thickly about as he sat there in her grip and he could see his dead brother – she spoke, voice somehow both tentative and firm, "Can you see me okay? Can you hear me alright?"

In any other situation, Daryl probably would've snapped with mild annoyance at his condition being questioned; but to that, he gave a gruff and weak sort of, "Fine."

She stared at him a moment longer before glancing around, visibly uncertain about his answer, mind obviously swirling with conflicting thoughts as her eyes flicked all about them, brow furrowed tensely. He watched, ignoring the slight wave to her form and the weird vibration of the sounds she made as she shifted against him, forcing his head to remain upright away from lolling forward in her hands. Luckily, before the urge to just sink down into her grip and sleep became too much, she turned back to him, seemed to spot something, and exclaimed. He tried to snap his head back to see what she was staring at with such shock, but she stopped him, laying him back on the ground with haste as she jumped up, running quickly over to something behind him. He strained to turn and face her, but she was back in a matter of seconds, clutching something that made his entire body tense up, pulling him into a sitting position.

" _Sophia's doll._ "

Jeanie's expression fell about uncertainly as she nodded, staring at the saturated lump of material, thumb rubbing gently over a button eye dangling from frayed thread, "That's what I thought," she paused, scanning their surroundings with new eyes as Daryl did much the same, flinching at his own movement, "why would she have passed through here?"

Daryl's eyes falling back to rest on the doll, expression tightening. "...More lost than we thought. But this 's proof she was here. Can't be far off."

"Yeah. Yeah."

They both fell into a long silence. Jeanie glanced back at him after a moment, expression uncertain, posture tensed. Abruptly, she realised this was the first time in days they had exchanged a word between them. The thought gave her definite pause. However, as much as she could've pondered on the moment, more pressing matters were at hand – as Daryl's body made sure he was aware when he moved a slight inch too much and was rewarded with a shot of agony down his side, collapsing him over his torso as he clutched at the bleeding gash, cursing through gritted teeth. Jeanie jerked forward immediately at the sound, attention pulled fully towards him again, hands steadying him. Without a thought, she tucked Sophia's doll away in her belt and began to tear a strip of material away from her top, moving his arms away so she could wrap it around him, eyes flicking up to his tensed face every so often to make sure he was alright.

Once she was done, he leaned back on his arms, a tense bite of air grunting out from him. Jeanie stared, teeth worrying her lower lip.

"...We need to move, Daryl." He looked up at her, blinking heavily, expression twisted, "You need Hershel to fix you up – I can't...I can't do anything for you." A muscle in her jaw twitched in an odd fashion, and he abruptly noticed how clammy she looked. He glanced over her face and body, brow furrowing, attempting to find any signs of injury. There were none, however – and she pulled his attention away from the issue quite quickly with a tense, "Can you climb?"

He shifted his aching neck over to evaluate the hill they would need to reach the top of. The mass of earth and winding brambles seemed far, far larger than he remembered, rolling down it a mere...ten minutes ago? An hour? ...He'd have to ask Jeanie how long he'd been away for. If he could remember to do it when they were out of the shit pit they were stuck in. And he wasn't sure he'd remember much, the way his head was swimming.

It looked more like a mountain than a hill now. The very thought of surmounting it made his muscles clench and his mind fall away, steadied only by Jeanie's hand as it softly swiped against his brow, her voice gently imploring him to keep his eyes open. He looked up at her, trying to keep his face from twisting any more than it already had in pain, features hardening as she turned down to her shirt and tore a strip from it, quickly shifting closer to wrap it tightly around his side, making him grit his teeth.

After a moment of laying against her, unable to shift from the stab of pain, he pulled himself away from her grip and stood abruptly, expression even once more. Without pause, she stood with him and gently took his arm, hooking it around her neck. He didn't object at this point – he was too far gone to let something like pride take over him. Her hand moved over his hip, gripping him against her as she glanced round at him, face just inches from his. She waited a few more seconds, bracing herself – and then they were gone, painstakingly inching across the ground, slowly crawling to the steep wall of mud and upturned roots they were aiming for, stopping only when they reached the side of it. Jeanie took one last look at him, teeth gritting, and then grabbed hold of a dead, twisted over tree, heaving them both up.

Each step was like some twisted, pathetic looking marathon feat of their combined strength. Daryl never thought he would pant like a dog in need of water and grit his teeth against a metre of uphill ground, but there he was, clutching to Jeanie's side and dragging her back as she inched them forward bit by bit.

By the time they were halfway up the side of the hill, the sun had shifted far away from them and Jeanie looked awful. She was soaked in sweat, brow stuck in a dented furrow, lips tightly shut as she bit back any sound that would declare her fatigue. The strain of carrying the dead weight of a fully grown, well-built man was destroying her – even with her considerable strength, this was a very dangerous, very precarious test of a lifetime's worth of endurance.

"What the hell's wrong with you?"

At his strained, muttered grunt, she looked round at him strangely, face twisting.

"...I'm fine. This isn't easy."

"Yeah, but you look fuckin'," he took a moment to continue as they edged past a cluster of pointed stones standing upright in their path, suddenly overcome by a overpowering wave of nausea, "shit." She didn't answer. It would've been easy to leave it there and carry on, but Daryl wasn't much up for that – he raised his volume as high as he could manage without his lung imploding with the pressure of his situation and continued bluntly, "You ain't been sleeping. I've seen you at night."

"I've seen you too."

"Ain't about me."

"Well it should be. You haven't been careful enough out here, you're hurt – you're more important right now, so just stop it please."

"I've been plenty careful, that fuckin' horse—"

"—Did you ask Hershel for it?"

"What?"

"The horse."

"No."

She sighed. He scowled. He couldn't get too defensive though – her complexion and clammy skin still had a firm hold of his attention, furrowing his brow and hurting his head. In an attempt to ignore the rising feeling of discomfort in his stomach and the approaching blur at the edges of his vision, he steered the conversation back to her.

"You ate today?"

"A can of peaches."

"And what, you think that's enough, in this heat and runnin' about like you are? You wanna collapse? The hell're you doin' out here – tryin' to get yourself killed?"

"I was trying to make sure you were alright." Her grip pulled up a bit on his side, fingers firming on his waist, "You were gone a long while, and I was worried. And I'm glad I di—"

A loose rock beneath their feet abruptly caught on the sole of Jeanie's boot and slipped out, tumbling down past them and dropping Jeanie's form a foot as she stumbled heavily, body plummeting away from his. Despite his attempt to steady himself in time to grab her, Daryl stumbled away to fall into a protruding boulder, cursing furiously when his knees thunderously cracked against the solid surface. A heavy thump came from up ahead and turned his head up – in falling, Jeanie had bashed her head against a tree and was sprawled across the sharp rock-side, gasping into the dirt as she attempted to push herself back up.

" _Fuck_."

He pushed away from the rock, using it as leverage to hobble forwards to her prone form, trying to ignore the sharp pain that stabbed into his legs with every movement. As he neared, she propped herself up on her knees, spitting out mud with a quiet cough, arms trembling as she pushed herself upwards, assisted by his outstretched arms. Without waiting for her permission, he pushed his hand up over her temple and frowned.

"I'm fine, don't—"

"Y' got a fever." He pulled his hand away, expression twisting, "You're sick."

"No, I'm just dizzy from falling—"

"Bullshit—"

"I'm fine—"

" _Bullshit_." She fell silent, looking away with a strained sigh. Daryl stared at her, sweat dripping from his temple, the water that should've dried on him in the blazing sun mixing humidly into the salty, filthy little trickles of fluid. Jeanie fidgeted quietly under his gaze, leaning against his arm for a moment to pull herself up. He watched her ascent like a hawk before asking with great, very audible tenseness, "You feel sick?"

"...I haven't been sleeping well lately. I'm tired. ...But I'm okay."

He didn't reply. After a long pause, Jeanie looked up again, brow furrowed. After a moment, she seemed to realise something, posture straightening, expression pulling up.

"You look feverish, too. ...Daryl? You look...you don't look good."

"...Come on."

An hour later, they were somewhere.

Actually, it wasn't an hour. Or, it might've been. And they didn't know if it was somewhere, or elsewhere, or over there, there, here everywhere; they were someplace, they were walking, and their heads hurt. A lot.

Jeanie had given up her water a while before. Said she took half of it already when she passed it to him to gulp down, but when he was finished he realised he must've had about three-quarters of it at least. She didn't complain, though – her candy bar went to him, too. But he made her eat some of it, forcing it into her hand as she stuffed away her machete, grunting with the effort of having smacked away a tangle of brambles in their way. Said she looked fucked. She looked away, mumbling her quiet thanks. She didn't want to tell him that he looked worse.

She watched him when he wasn't looking, and he did the same; that is, when he wasn't looking out at the horizon before them, tracking the progress of the always just a bit ahead figure he knew far too well to ignore. It had popped up again, a while before. The heat, he guessed. It'd been following them ever since, watching. It liked to watch Jeanie a lot, too. Grinning. Daryl scowled.

Jeanie dripped with more and more sweat, even as he pulled his weight off of her side as much as possible, a hand propping up on his wound. The bleeding had slowed, but it hadn't stopped by any means – already Jeanie had had to stop them and wrap him with another torn part of her shirt, despite his protests that they should keep going. As more of her skin came to light, so did thick bruises along her sides and back – from getting down that hill, she told him: in her haste to reach him before the walker got into his skin, she'd sprinted into the side of a tree.

It was when he was in the midst of frowning at one of these blooming marks that Jeanie stopped without warning, a sudden intake of air gulping down her gullet, and she pushed him away without a thought. Before he could really react as he stumbled away, she bent abruptly at the knee, shoved her hair back and proceeded to expulse the entirety of her stomach contents into the dirt.

It took him a moment of dazed staring for him to join her again, cursing to himself under his breath as he bent down with a withheld grunt and moving her hand away to hold her falling bangs for her, allowing her arms to prop up on her filthy, bashed knees as she shuddered violently. He didn't bother to say he told her so, that he fuckin' knew she was sick, he fuckin' _knew_ it. Instead, he stayed silent, patting her back without his usual oomph, forcing himself not to lean away onto a nearby tree for support as his own head swam.

After a long while, the merciless gagging stopped, and Jeanie hocked onto the puddle she'd made, grimacing at the sour tang of her own saliva as she delayed the inevitable need to stand upright again. When she managed it, assisted by Daryl's grip, she stood where she was for a long moment, silent, breaths struggling to steady. Daryl expected her to turn and tell him that she was fine. However, when she glanced round, gaze turned away from his eyes to bore into a patch of dried grass across the way, she asked, "How far are we?"

He paused, turning to evaluate. His side groaned at the movement. A shadow shifted up behind some trees, a mocking, toothy smirk flashing. He turned back immediately.

"Five minutes," a reluctant silence, "maybe."

He wasn't sure, then. She looked up to his face, finally, and found it as strained as she felt her own was. She smiled weakly. His brow furrowed.

"I think you should go ahead without me."

"No."

His immediate response stopped her in her tracks. She took a moment before speaking again, gentler than before, "I don't feel good," her stomach lurched once again and she gulped heavily, "at all. I'm gonna be slow. If we're almost there, you should just go ahead—"

"No."

Her gaze softened. His firmed. Eventually, she continued, "I'm not asking you to leave me, Daryl. I'm not going to stay here. I'll just be behind you, that's all. If you get ahead, then you can get Hershel to help you, and the guys can help me the rest of the way, because I'm just..." She sighed. "...You're not leaving me. It's okay."

"How's that not leaving you?"

"Because I'm asking you to do it. For me."

Another edged mutter of, "Bullshit."

"Daryl..."

"'m not leaving you. Come on."

She didn't move, though. He'd never wished more to be able to haul someone over his shoulder than then, and it frustrated him to no end that he couldn't do so – not without making himself black-out and ripping his stomach out into the open, anyway. That's be a humiliating way to go; not to mention he'd probably crush Jeanie under his dead weight, for good measure. So, he had to try another tactic.

"I'm slow too. My legs are fucked, but I'm carrying on. Don't pull this shit. We'll be there soon."

She stared up at him. After a moment, she looked away, mumbling something. He waited for her to answer properly.

"...I think I'm going to faint."

He cursed.

"That rock."

She sighed weakly. "Yeah." She was silent for a moment, grimacing at herself. "Can't believe that's the thing that's finishing me. And when you're..." Her eyes trailed up his side. "...It's stupid. So stupid."

He paused. "Well, come on then. We gotta hurry."

At great length, staring up at him in silence, she finally acquiesced. Standing, she told him firmly, "If I fall, don't pick me up." He scoffed as they pulled their arms around each other, his around her waist, hers around his upper back to avoid his wound, their bodies edging closer together for support. She turned her head past his shoulder and furrowed her brow, voice strengthening, "Really. You'll hurt yourself – if it happens, go ahead and bring them back. ...Quickly. Quickly would be good."

He didn't answer.

Ten minutes later, they were on the border of the farm.

They could tell they were at the right one by the telltale cans that'd been strung up around some of the fences to alert the inhabitants of walkers. A spoon Glenn had used to eat pudding and lost on a patrol round the borders glinted up at them in the light, a trail of ants leading up past it to the peach core he'd discarded afterwards. Jeanie observed all the signs with relieved exhaustion.

"We're here."

She seemed to state the obvious more for herself than anything else. Daryl glanced round at her, his breathing coming out in humid, unstable bursts.

"Yeah."

His mutter fell quietly, and he tightened his grip on her waist as they started back up the sun-scorched field they recognised the beginnings of. Jeanie smiled – genuinely, if strained at the edges with tiredness. Her feet sighed in her boots, sinking into the relief of knowing that they were almost done for the day.

If it wasn't for another shudder of her stomach, they would've been fine.

It had happened a few times again on the way, each with less and less actual substance to be violently expunged. This time, nothing came. Just her own strangled saliva and dry gags of her groaning throat. Daryl stopped immediately, silently bringing a hand up to rub at her back. His eyes flicked away, looking for anyone outside. They were still quite far off from the actual house, so it was likely nobody would notice them for a bit longer, unless they were specifically searching out in their direction.

"—I'm okay." Jeanie gagged again, forcing her body to calm. "I'm okay." Daryl nodded even though she couldn't see, throat too dry to really speak anymore. He muttered something unintelligible but comforting to her nonetheless as she steadied herself, breathing calming. A glint flashed up on the horizon. He narrowed his eyes at it, head aching.

Finally, Jeanie was alright again. She breathed lowly out, shifting a little patch of dried grass, hair falling over her face again. She readied herself to straighten, voice ready to push them both forward for the last little bit of distance to safety.

And then a gunshot ripped through the air.

Daryl's arm fell away from where it had been resting at the small of her back, his legs stumbling back, his shadow falling away. Jeanie's head flinched up, eyes wide, mouth falling, unable to comprehend the suddenness of the noise or movement. She watched in silence as he fell to the ground with a muted thud.

For a long moment, she was frozen where she kneeled. Then she was standing above him, watching, disbelieving, eyes juttering. Blood.

Blood.

Her lungs collapsed at the same time as her body finally did.

She didn't feel a thing as a crowd of voices screamed closer, her vision turned to nothingness, and she fell to the dirt beside the still, red-stained body of Daryl Dixon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, feel free to leave a comment!


	20. Chapter 20: An Aftermath; An Ending

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jeanie recovers from sickness; and another one creeps forth, in a different form. She and Daryl share a moment - and an inevitable conclusion bursts forth, suddenly and violently.

Chapter 20: An Aftermath; An Ending

At first, upon waking to a soft thrum in the background, Jeanie thought she was back in the Winnebago, having never left, the engine lulling her out of a gentle sleep. It was only after the initial haze of drugged, bone-heavy sleep seeped away from her and she began to feel the burning ache all across her body that she realised that it was someone crying.

Her eyes ripped open. It was dark outside. Probably had been for a while, judging by the quiet of the house around them – the farm. Her shoulders slumped into the heavy, old mattress she was lying on, blankets tucked carefully over her form. Crouched up in the windowspace, the only source of light in the room, came the quiet crying – Carol, she realised, bent over herself, holding a tray with the cold remains of what looked like an untouched sandwich and some lukewarm water. Why, Jeanie tried to ask herself. Why was she there? What had happened..?

After a minute – or more, or less, who knew – of contemplation, an understanding began to seep into Jeanie's muddled thoughts, prompted forth by her dizziness and the heaviness of her body: she'd fainted. All the stress of the previous day had—

She stopped.

The stress. What stress?

A faint throbbing began to beat upon her temple, creasing her brow. She'd bashed it – she remembered. On a rock – falling as she helped to carry –

It was the wet slap of a folded towel falling from Jeanie's head to the floor that jerked Carol round to face her, eyes wide. Jeanie stared at her in return, aching chest heaving quietly, eyes bulging so much that they could've simply popped out at the slightest movement, her hands clenched at her sides in the bedcovers. Carol wasn't moving. She remained in the same position, not bothering to even pretend she hadn't been crying.

"What happened."

Jeanie hadn't consciously formulated the question before it came out: it burst forth from her gullet, grit-scratched and tense, of its own accord, fighting her frozen state of being. Her voice gave out after the first syllable from dehydration, but she croaked out a tighter, tenser repetition at the ensuing silence, "What happened, Carol?"

For a long, agonising moment, no answer came, and Jeanie could've vomited. Then, slowly, a murmur came in reply, "...You got sun stroke, and some kind of stomach sickness from the pond water you walked in looking for..." She stopped. Jeanie stared at her, breaths coming thicker, eyes seeming to sting. After a painful gap in the conversation, Carol continued, voice tighter than before, eyes darting about. "You're okay. Hershel took care of you just fine. It's okay."

"...Carol?"

Carol looked away. Jeanie gripped into her thigh, drawing blood with her bitten down nails, muscles curling tightly around her juttering thumb. Her chest was shaking.

_Don't say it. Don't say it, please don't._

It all went wrong, she remembered. A gunshot...

_Don't say it._

"...You almost died, Jeanie. And I know...I know you shouldn't have. Because there's no point. Because my daughter is dead. I know she is."

A silence. Jeanie's expression deadened, mind halting. Carol breathed tensely, shakily, hands having abandoned the tray and gripping painfully into her knees. She was waiting. She hadn't told anyone else that she knew, that she'd realised this, and she was waiting to see what Jeanie would say. If she was going to comfort her with false hope, or if she would tell her the truth – that she knew it, too. Neither of them moved an inch, or made a sound.

Then, without a word, Jeanie held her aching, jerking, bruised arms up, and Carol was in her arms, sobbing without meaning, gone. Her face was pressed into Jeanie's scarred shoulder, the newly cleaned, wrinkled skin wetted by her tears, her arms shaking before Jeanie's stomach, mouth failing to hold back her noise. Jeanie just sat there, arms around her, a hand coming up to press into her hair, stroking weakly.

And as she did that, silent, a new kind of horror came over her: the relief from seeing the far-off campfire of Daryl's tent space overpowered the grief she felt for Sophia.

* * *

Gulping down a canteen of apple juice – the last remnants of what they had for this season, because she needed the fluids and the sugar – Jeanie pushed back the rising feeling of unease, and continued on her path up the hill on the outskirts of the farm.

She'd originally intended to walk out, straight out the door, once she'd awoken from the uneasy sleep she'd slipped into sometime while holding Carol in her arms for hours. Having rolled away from the extra blanket tucked over her some time in the night, she'd pounded a glass of the water pitcher on her bedstand, hurriedly threw on her boots, and walked out into the hall – only to be met with the surprised form of T-Dog, bringing her some breakfast.

" _Damn!_ You scared me, girl!"

She had the basic wherewithal to feel bad at that.

"Sorry, I – didn't mean to...I just need to go see Daryl."

He nearly automatically moved out the way for her fidgeting form, before stopping himself awkwardly halfway through, expression twisting.

"Ahh...maybe you should leave that for later. You gotta have some food, first. Lori made you French toast, special," he saw Jeanie begin to politely but firmly decline, and so added, "Daryl'd kick my ass if I let you wake up from a coma or whatever and run off without a scrap of fuckin' food in you. Come on."

That stopped her, for a moment at least – especially when she caught a whiff of the food, and her stomach growled with want. But she pushed the thought aside as soon as it came – making sure Daryl was alright was more important than irritating him. And she had to...talk to him. Or something. She wasn't quite sure.

"I'll have it later, sorry. I need to go."

"Why so soon? Can't you wait 'til later?"

"I need to talk to him."

"...Jeanie? What's wrong, huh?"

She looked away, frowning deeply, brow furrowing. He watched her, shifting the weight of the tray and glancing down every few seconds to make sure he hadn't spilled the orange juice. Finally, quite abruptly, she spoke.

"...I'm angry. That's not...that's not why I want to see him. But I'm angry."

"Angry? How come?"

She moved back into the room without thinking, and he followed, setting down the tray and shutting the door quietly whilst she sat once more on the bed, posture slumping. He sat beside her, waiting patiently, until she spoke again.

"Angry at me."

That halted any reply quite quickly, for a long moment. Then, brow creasing, he asked, "Why in the hell would you mad at you? What've you done? You've been out cold for days."

She shrugged, very deeply, very heavily. A large gulp of air shuddered from her, seeming almost relieved. "That's kind of it. Not really, but a bit. ...If I'd done taken better care of myself, and not gotten sick, Daryl," she halted, breathing deeply for a long pause. "...Daryl wouldn't have got shot."

T-Dog started immediately to reply, voice rising in her defence, "Hey, that's not true."

Jeanie shook her head more violently than would probably be advisable for her health, teeth gritting before she replied tensely, "It is – we only stopped because I had to puke. Andrea saw him standing there and thought—"

"Carol told you everythin', then?" She nodded, eyes darkening a bit as she thought of the long night she'd had to suffer through with the woman, feeling T-Dog shifting about on the bed as he became steadily more enthusiastic about convincing her of her innocence. "Then you should know it's not your fault. ...Daryl was hobblin', wasn't he? Legs fucked, and everything?"

"Yes."

"Well, you were goin' slow, right? Walkin' all fucked. You don't think she would've seen that and thought he was a walker?"

"But I would've been walking with him, holding him. Walkers don't do that."

"The sun was in her eyes – that's why she didn't recognise him in her binoculars, Jeanie. You think she could've been able to tell you were holdin' him? ...C'mon. You gotta know you're being too hard on yourself." No answer, still. T-Dog scratched at his wrist, sighing deeply. Then, he added pointedly, "You know, he visited you all day. Soon as he was up, he was by you – didn't even go out looking when he could've, some days. You think he'd do that if he blamed you?"

Turning to face him, shifting slightly where she sat, Jeanie felt her expression lift. "He did?"

"'Course he did – come on. You tellin' me you don't realise how much he likes you?" He shook his head, seeming amused and definitely shocked. "Shit – you two 're just as bad as each other. You're pretty much the only damn person he talks to. Why d'you think that is?"

"...I've gotta go talk to him."

She stood, striding immediately across the room to the door. The floor creaked as she set her hand on the handle, T-Dog walking up after her. Before she could quite exit, his hand came down gently on her shoulder.

"Listen, now. I know what it's like, feeling guilty. Okay? I get it. The difference is, I did something to feel guilty about. You didn't. Not at all."

She paused for a long moment, staring at the door. Then, slowly, she turned to face him. His expression had changed, very deeply – his entire posture had shifted, slumping a bit, arms loose at his side as his hand fell quietly away from her shoulder. His eyes were dark, lost in a memory. They looked dead.

"...You know, Merle was a fuckin' asshole. But he didn't deserve to die like that," he paused, neck muscles tensing, "Whatever way he did. Bleeding out, or eaten, or...didn't deserve it. And I did that to him. Me."

Quite slowly, Jeanie came to the realisation that this was the first time T-Dog had ever discussed this – this guilt, this horror about having lost the only thing that could've kept Merle from mutilating himself. With that, she felt an abrupt spurt of guilt: she'd never once asked about it. Not once. She'd only thought about what Daryl felt afterwards, after his only brother was killed. She never asked after the person who had done the killing.

"...You didn't mean to do that. You didn't kill him."

"No, I did." He shook his head, expression lightening a bit, as if assuaging a point he'd gone over and dismissed so many times in the past that the mere mention was laughable. "I mean, I did it. Don't let's bullshit, here. The point is, what I was gonna say: I lost the key, I did him in cause of what I did, even if it was a mistake. You didn't do shit. You didn't try 'n get sick. And you didn't kill someone, 'cause Daryl's just fine. And so're you. Right?"

...

She smiled – a stretched, strained, false smile – and nodded.

"As rain."

She'd thanked him for that – and ended up eating the breakfast after all, as a real thanks according to his request. Then, instead of immediately leaving afterwards, she'd hung around a bit – Hershel had to give her another dose of medicine and check her head; then she volunteered to help a cheery Beth carry some baskets of fruit down to the cellar to be jammed; then she helped dry the dishes Lori washed as thanks for breakfast; and then, halfway through attempting to fix a loose screw in a hall doorframe, she realised she was avoiding Daryl. A strange thing, for all her earlier enthusiasm. It seemed that talk with T-Dog had got her thinking after all, wallowing – and then the string of things to do just pushed her deeper and deeper into it. She very nearly took his earlier advice and left going to see him for the day. But then, ten minutes into letting this avenue sink in as a possibility, she finished up what she was doing, handed the screwdriver to an unusually subdued and distracted Glenn, and left, asking him to finish it off. Carol gave her the spare canteen, an apple, and sent her on her way, like a child going to school – Jeanie felt the same level of dread as that childhood experience, anyway.

She stuffed the canteen away as she crested the little hill, having eaten and tossed the remnants of her apple halfway there to be scrabbled over by ants in the dirt. It was another roasting hot day, mosquitoes in full, blooming clouds hazing around the air. She swatted half-heartedly at them as she walked slowly into the threshold of Daryl's camp – empty.

Pausing for a moment to check his crossbow was still there and he was thus nearby, she called out, "Daryl?"

A rustle to her side – she tensed, grabbing at her ever-present machete just in case she'd summoned something other than Daryl; but, luckily, she hadn't. The man in question stepped out from a grouping of bushes, zipping up his pants. She'd apparently caught him in a compromising moment.

"...Sorry."

"'S fine. People piss." He was looking at her a bit strangely, though – a bit tense. He stood there for a moment at the edge, neither of them speaking, until he finally broke off and moved inwards, slumping down into a seat at the side of a log, grabbing at some beef jerky he'd left atop his pack and beginning to eat. Jeanie took a moment of watching him before moving forward, sitting across from him, against an old tree trunk. He didn't so much as look up.

"...Is your head okay?"

"Fine."

"Is it gonna scar?"

"A bit."

"...Sorry."

He looked up, finally. He stared at her for a moment. "Why."

She fidgeted, settling further back on her thighs. A couple of beetles skittered away from her shifting form, and she lifted her hands out of the way, eyes turning to the dirt. "Just, you know," she paused, "...I should've called ahead. Or eaten better. Drank some water."

"Yeah. You should've."

She nodded, still staring into the dust below her gripping fingertips, teeth biting absently at her teeth. She thought that was it, and almost stood to stretch – or maybe run off, or speak some more, she didn't know – but then Daryl spoke again.

"Not your fault about calling ahead though. Wasn't your fault I got shot. I didn't fuckin' do it either, did I?"

"...No, but still. I got sick."

"You shouldn'ta got sick, but it ain't your fault that I got shot. ...Forget about it. You took the explosion at the CDC; I took the bullet here. If it was gonna be one of us," he stopped, voice halting quite abruptly. She looked up, finding him looking away as she did so. "...I'd take it better than you, anyway. You've got enough shit lately."

"...T-Dog said you watched over me while I was out."

It had the expected effect, her statement – Daryl immediately frowned, looking away. She smiled, tired even as she was.

"Hope you don't have to do that much more, nursing me while I'm out cold. Not that I don't appreciate it – but twice is enough for a while, I think. ...But, thanks. I appreciate it. A lot."

"...'S not a big deal."

She almost answered; but stopped herself, sighing quietly. He glanced back at her, eyes drifting for a moment, before his attention was brought back to his beef jerky, his loud munching consuming the air about them. As he smacked a few mosquitoes away, seeming somehow a bit more relaxed than before yet still not entirely settled, Jeanie smiled, a tiny little sliver of a goddamned exhausted smile. And then, feeling a strange surge of need to move, she stooped up slightly and moved her form over near his.

Daryl's head whipped up in surprise – even more so when she lifted a hand and brought it up, just before her face. Without thinking much beyond the need she had to do so, Jeanie asked quietly, gently, "Can I see it? Is that okay?"

For a long, silent moment, he didn't seem to really process what she'd asked – but then he nodded. He turned his head slightly, swallowing the last of his jerky, and waited. Quietly, she brought her hand up the last little distance and carefully, softly pulled away the dirt-specked gauze taped to the side of his temple.

It was small, the wound: freakily, unbelievably small. It'd skirted him, just barely – just enough to whip his head back and violently splatter her with his blood as he collapsed beside her. So tiny. So insignificant seeming.

But Christ, it'd frightened her.

"Why?"

She looked up. He was watching her, waiting. She realised, quite suddenly, that she'd spoken aloud. The option to dismiss what she'd mumbled so quietly before him was considered for a second in her mind, and promptly neglected in the face of his wait for an answer.

"...You scared the shit out of me, Daryl. Really. I thought you were dead."

He stared at her. Then, he looked away, quickly.

"Ain't nothing to worry about."

"You know it is," her voice had hardened on that, expression gaining a bit of fire as she repeated, "You know it is, Daryl. You know it matter to me – a lot. If you'd..."

She couldn't finish her sentence. He still wouldn't look at her. One of her fingers drifted over the edge of the wound, carefully avoiding the pinched skin, playing over the untouched surroundings without thinking. Then, realising what she was doing, she moved it away, just as abruptly as she'd begun. She stared at him, struck, and he stared back.

"I'm sorry. I just had to...sorry."

"...Don't worry about it."

His voice – her expression shifted – his voice was different. More gravelly. Deeper. She paused for a long moment.

"...Do you want to—"

What she'd been about to say – an offer to go back and grab some food together before heading out on a search she knew he'd probably bar her from – was lost to the wind, blasted over by a sudden gust of shouting in the distance, back behind them.

At the farm.

They were up on their feet in a second, weapons out, eyes scanning the horizon and ears twinging to listen. When another howl of some indiscernible emotion pressed up in a gust of wind towards them and confirmed tensely that it wasn't just some non-incident, they moved as one – kicked the log of the way, jumping over a cluster of rocks, and sprinting down the little incline, keeping pace with one another.

By the time they'd skid to a halt in the dirt, nearly stumbling over on the protruding rocks in their haste, it was clear from the yelling, the weapons, and the dead walkers slumped in bloody muck: their little vacation, their little allowance of peace had come to an end: violently.

Shane had his hand on the barndoor's handle, screaming at them all as Jeanie and Daryl rushed up the back of them, his eyes wide and blazing, spit flying from his nearly frothing mouth. It was in that moment that Jeanie knew, failing as she was to figure out what the hell was going on, that it wasn't just over for them – it was over for him. He was gone, really and truly. He'd snapped, somehow.

It was terrifying.

"— _on't fucking tell me that you think it's right, Rick! Don't fucking dare!_ "

Rick looked mad – really, truly insane, hysterical – yet, somehow, steadfast. Like a man negotiating for his life. Jeanie's machete twitched about in her hand.

"This isn't our decision, this isn't our place Shane – please, _please stop, we can work it out_ —"

" _Too late, brother – too fuckin' late. Your kid and your wife—your fuckin' family right there, and you're tryin' to make excuses for this shit?!"_

" _Don't you dare point that gun in there – and don't point it at my dad, you son of a bitch—"_

"We need to stay here Shane, we can't leave, _we can't, please_ —"

" _Andrea, get it up, Daryl, get your crossbow pointed—"_

" _No, Shane!_ "

" _Stop,_ _ **DON'T**_ —!"

As everyone went separate ways in their decisions – joining Shane's side, weapons at the ready for whatever there was ahead of them; screaming for him to stop; Daryl and Jeanie just stuck there – and then, the doors were opened. And, from them, a tidal wave of dead poured.

No longer able to listen, able to debate, Daryl and Jeanie surged forward against the current and began to kill.

It was chaotic, bloody, confusing especially for them – gore flew, limbs thudded off, the screams of Hershel and his family echoed ear-splittingly around them all. Then, before it had really begun, it had ended.

But it hadn't.

The final walker fell to the dirt, head slumping off, tendons sputtering bile as it thudded to a stop there. And then a soft groan. Footsteps. They all turned back to the barn. The wailing stopped. A deadly silence fell.

It was Sophia.

Vaguely, very vaguely, Jeanie felt herself drop her machete, fingers deadening even as she grabbed numbly out at the rushing form of Carol, pulling her down, pulling her away, Daryl's hands shuddering over hers and holding them both there. She couldn't hear anything anymore, couldn't see anything. Nothing apart from that face. That face, coming towards them. Rotten.

Dead.

She didn't comprehend the bullet when it smashed into that face, sending it plummeting to the floor, nor her arms loosening with Daryl's own, Carol's body lurching forth to collapse over the tiny heap.

It was hours later, stained in black blood, a mile away from the farm, alone in a collection of trees when her senses returned.

And then, loudly and brutally, the tears finally came for her.

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoyed that! Please feel free to leave a comment if you liked it. Your enjoyment inspires me! :^)


	21. Chapter 21: Break Upon Break

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Carol comes to Daryl with some unwelcome news - and we begin to see what happened ourselves.

Chapter 21 – Break Upon Break

"...Daryl?"

A long silence. Carol fidgeted in her spot, hands fiddling over each other, posture falling about exhaustedly. Still, she waited, with no reply. A few crickets sung, the sound piercing the lull as her eyes trailed about and she slowly moved a foot forward, but nothing else.

His camp didn't look like it had been touched for a while, she thought. He could be out; but it was late. ...Very late, now. The moon was out in full tonight, and she was left with only that as light, Daryl's fire lying cold and unlit. Brow furrowing, she reached for her pocket, pulled out a small torch that Glenn had scavenged for her some time ago, and clicked it on – only to be startled.

"Ah, Daryl—"

He'd been sitting away from the camp, behind his tent, on a log. He was fiddling with something in his hands – a knife, Carol realised, the one he used to skin squirrels when he used to bring them into the camp. Sharpening it, then, she guessed. But he hadn't started yet; he was just running his finger over it, wordless, stooped over like some kind of expressionist statue, crooked and weighty. Carol braced herself.

"...I need to talk to you—"

"Don't want to talk."

Another silence. His reply had been sharp, but somehow subdued. Angry, yet uncaring. She didn't know quite how to describe it – it unnerved her. Still, she steadied herself.

"It's important."

"Don't give a shit."

"It's—"

"Fuck off."

His hand had stopped moving over the knife, pushing it away, back tensed. He still hadn't turned to her. Carol tightened her fist, taking a deep, deep breath.

"Daryl—"

" _Fuck off._ "

"Just listen to me—"

" _Get the fuck out of here already, y'hear me? Wasn't enough for you for me to be running all round for some dead girl, you gotta fuckin bother me too, just_ _ **fuck o**_ —"

" _It's Jeanie, Daryl_."

He turned. Carol stared into his eyes, the anger he thought would be there absent.

"...She's gone."

* * *

The first time Jeanie had a moment of consciousness from her walking stupor, it was during a shouting match.

A portion of the group – a loud portion – were gathered in the kitchen, yelling amongst themselves. It'd started as murmuring, quiet and tense – but, after a while, as it always did, it escalated. She wasn't even listening, even as she awakened a slight bit where she sat in one of the cold armchairs, a blanket thrown over her. She hadn't done that, she thought vaguely, even whilst knowing she couldn't really remember much of the past while. The answer for her impending mental question came with a soft brushing over her hand.

She whipped her head round, tensing at the touch, before realising who it was: Dale. He was in the seat beside her, hands over hers, gently wiping a cloth across her palm. She stared at him, not really comprehending much.

He looked up at her movement, staring tiredly back for a moment before managing to scrounge up a comforting attempt at a smile. "You've got grass stains all over you. Didn't see you for a while, 'til you wandered in there...must've been out back, by the trees."

She stared, still. Then, after a moment, she nodded faintly, turning back away, expression loosening back to nothing. He continued cleaning her hands.

After a particularly loud shout came from back behind them, she croaked out quietly, half there, "What's happening?"

He seemed to hesitate for a moment, seeming to think it a bad idea to bring her into the furious debate going on in the next room over when she was so out of it – but, eventually, he answered, gently setting down her left hand and reaching for her right, "They're arguing. About Shane. And Hershel-" another pause, before he hastened, "Nothing to worry about."

Her lip curled, fingers twitching. She wasn't quite sure why. Dale noticed though, and looked up.

"...You think it was wrong too, don't you?"

A brief pause came in the shouting after a door opened and closed on Glenn grabbing a glass of water to replenish what he'd lost working in the sun, before the angry muttering and sniping began again, hissed and tense. As the noise faded back into steady and meaningless background noise, Jeanie realised she didn't even know who was arguing. For a moment she almost awoke her mind enough to attempt to make them out; but then abandoned the effort swiftly. What did it matter, she supposed, who it was? The fact that it was happening was indicative enough of how bad things were.

Dale sighed, deeply and heavily. Jeanie glanced round at him from the corner of her eye, tired and half there. He was staring at the frayed rug beneath their feet, at the scuff marks from decades of use – and from a few weeks of an apocalyptic family moving in. Carl had left a stain in the corner, with some juice from a can of peaches; Glenn'd dropped a biscuit and rubbed in a ball of crumbs without realising; Andrea caught her boot on one of the tassles a week before. The wood out in the hall was dirt-streaked and creaking beneath the heels of them all. A fire was burning outside, a raw odour permeating the air. Hair and meat.

"...He shouldn't have done that. Not like that. It wasn't up to us."

She didn't answer; but her expression stayed the same. That seemed to be enough for him – on that subject only. After a few minutes of silence on their end, with the snipes growing gradually once more, he finished cleaning her up and set the rag down in his lap, shifting in his chair to move closer to her. Then, after hesitantly scratching at his neck for a few moments, he asked her quietly, "How are you, dear?"

She tensed again, eyes shutting for a moment, head turning. She couldn't talk about herself right now – could barely deal with anything else, never mind that, that can of ugly, blackened worms. No. She couldn't.

She shook her head, coughing lightly, forcing herself to loosen a bit as she did so, turning a bit in her chair – away. He wasn't deterred, though.

"Jeanie, come on, now – I'm worried about you. ...We haven't talked in a while." He hesitated again before resolving himself, voice dropping all the more, "If you need help...you need to tell me. Or anyone – someone, so we can do whatever we can."

She didn't reply. Dale, though, instead of giving up at that, waited only a moment more before he spoke again.

"You know, I've never been good with death – never, in my whole life. Not to say anyone is; but I really wasn't. I couldn't stand seeing it on TV, had to leave the room when it happened. I remember losing it when my pet dog got ran over as a kid. ...But then my wife..."

He stopped. Jeanie felt her fingers digging into her arm, brow denting as she couldn't help but look round at him.

"...I didn't handle it well. And I didn't handle it well when Andrea spoke to me in the CDC, and said she wanted to stay behind. Or with Sophia. Or with you."

That caught her. She stared at him, shoulders falling. He was watching her, with the same gaze he'd held before, when he'd brought her and Glenn over to the RV, to work on the engine, to talk a while in the sun. It was nice, that day. Reminded her of someone, his eyes. She tried to ignore it.

"I'm not leaving, Dale."

"Are you sure?" Those eyes again, growing more earnest, more pleading, staring into her own, and she couldn't look away. "Would you tell us if you wanted to?"

He was looking right at her, right in her, waiting. Behind them, the door to the kitchen creaked loudly open, thumping against the wall, and the shouting stopped. Footsteps, and murmuring, and some more footsteps, leaving – people walking out the door past her, without a glance, without faces to her, nothing more than human shaped blobs all of them for how little she cared in that moment. She glanced numbly back to find Shane silently across from Lori, staring at her. Lori met his eyes for a moment before walking out, frame set, off into the night. Ready to get something done.

"Jeanie?"

She looked back. Dale was waiting, still. The door shut behind Lori, her footsteps echoing out into the growing dark of the night, away.

"...I've got to go."

She stood, blanket falling away from her upright legs, and left, door swinging shut behind her as she strode after the disappearing form up the dirt path without a glance back. Dale watched after her, expression straightening, posture falling, rag pulling in his hands. Looking up, he found the pacing form of the man in the kitchen, equally fraught.

His eyes darkened.

* * *

Lori awoke with a start.

Darkness, at first. Her eyes took a moment to adjust, lost in all the blackness, mind swimming without a care in the world beyond vague confusion. Then, a little flickering orb of light began to grow slowly over to the side, away from her, sharpening with each blink of her lids. She tried to turn to look at it – and groaned, halting immediately, blackness coming over her again as her eyes squeezed shut at the rush of feeling suddenly overwhelming her senses. Her head – it felt stuffed, with too much in it to bare, just about ready to burst. Her ears were done; seemingly lopped off for all the noise she was picking up, numb and useless. Her fingers twitched slightly against her thigh, toes tingling, torso wriggling. She rolled her head back slowly, swallowing back a wave of nausea as she did so, letting loose a pained sigh that she couldn't hear.

Then, as she pulled herself back up, and her eyes fully opened even as the little light pulsated against her peripherals and she looked around to her other side, she realised something.

A walker was trying to eat her.

With a choked sort of scream, she leapt back, sound returning to her all of a sudden in a rush, like a horrible, deafening wave of chaos that she couldn't comprehend beyond the horrific groans and gnashing of teeth to the side of her head, through a cracked window.

Where – where –

Vaguely, in between the abrupt terror forced upon her, she put the pieces together, and her mind managed to grasp back at her actual consciousness: she was in a car – and a walker had appeared in front, she'd swerved and – what—

A creak from her left and another great gnashing; the cracked window the walker was pressing in on buckled a bit more, safety glass chunks falling over her shoulder and crunching beneath her recoiling form. Lori gave a desperate keen, breath hitching in her chest, and tried to move back some more – but, her leg, it was caught, and she hanging strangely from her seatbelt, pulled off to side like she was suspended over a fall. She was upside down, she realised with great strain – upside down and over a ditch or something, something like that, and stuck in her seat. She had to move, she had to get out somehow, pull free, _something quickly before_ —

A sound in the back. For a horrifying, all-consuming moment, Lori thought that was it: the back wind-shield had collapsed, another walker was in, and she was dead, it was over, the world had ended. But then a string of mumbled gibberish, and she recognised the voice.

"Jeanie!"

A shuffle. No answer.

" _Jeanie!_ _Wake up!_ _**Please!**_ "

A cough – more conscious sounding this time. An awful pause consumed the tipped-over car, and Lori found herself turning away, breathing coming heavier, eyes darting to the side every few seconds as her hands began to desperately search around for something, anything to defend herself with, to get out of here and get away.

Then, oh thank god, _oh thank god_ , Jeanie answered, "...Lori? Lori, wha—"

A creak – Jeanie had shifted to the wrong side, slipping in her elevated seat and dangling away from her seatbelt, and the car almost tipped. Lori screeched, arms flying up to brace herself against the dashboard, narrowly avoiding snapping teeth.

" _Don't move that way!_ We crashed, we're upside down – _Jeanie, there's a walker, help—_ "

With a gasp, Jeanie began to struggle in the back, legs kicking out everywhere, air expulsing thunderously from her lungs as she tried to untangle herself from her twisted seatbelt. Another creak came from beside Lori: the window was edging in, at a much greater pace than before. The walker's face got at an angle, twisting – and then, horrifically, it was in, right beside her, through a hole, face turning this way and that to get further to her, skin pulling back. Lori couldn't help it: she screamed again, body twisting around as she tried to pull her leg free from whatever had stuck it – her chair, or something, she didn't know, but it wouldn't let go.

The car rocked suddenly: Jeanie had decided to use the leverage afforded by the seatbelt to push herself into a corner, calves pulling back like a coil, and then kicked, powerfully and harshly out at the door opposite her. Lori whipped round, wild-eyed, ready to screech for her to stop again – but then logic kicked in: Jeanie was trying to get out, to help her. But she was taking too long, too long, _the walker was moving in_.

"Oh god, oh god, oh—"

Lori couldn't feel anything, anything at all around her as her body began to break down, air shivering through her at a heightened pace and leaving her mind struggling – where was the screwdriver, the one Glenn had left in the car, where was it, Christ, please. Another rock; Jeanie managed to land a solid thump on the window with her boots and it creaked ominously. It wasn't quick enough though. Lori's hand shuddered around still, instinctually whipping down to her side to try and release her from her seatbelt - but she couldn't turn all the way, not without leaving her neck open for attack. She keened strangely at the realisation, an awful bubble of meaningless noise leaving her in utter panic. The walker - the walker - oh god, it was gaining, it was gaining.

As the teeth snapped again, an inch from her shoulder, a machete suddenly appeared at her other one. She whipped round again, hyperventilating, to find Jeanie yelling furiously at her.

" _Take it, Lori, take it!_ "

She didn't need to be told twice – her right hand flinched out and took it by the handle, she twisted, and then, without another thought, she smashed the thing into the walker's head.

Gore sprayed her face. She gave a choked, nearly vomiting sob, tugging back on the blade as a sliver of the walker's dilapidated cheek fell onto her breast, pulling it free only to then smash it straight down again, again, again. Finally, after countless, breathless hits, the walker wasn't moving anymore, and Lori was left there beside it, breathing so deeply she almost tasted the rotten flesh slumped against the outer reaches of her body. Her chest shuddered, along with the car, as Jeanie kicked out again, making a definite crack back behind her. Her chest shuddered, along with the car. Barely noticed by her, a sheet of safety glass at the back popped out with a harsh crack, sliding across the oil-slick tarmac, catching on the side of a dented wheel hub that had flown away from them in the crash.

Finally, after too long for Lori's nervous system to handle, Jeanie appeared before her. She stared down at her for a long moment, chest still heaving from the workout of having kicked open the back window – and then she was before her, pulling back on the walker's limp carcass, foot braced in the windshield in front of Lori's face.

After three attempts to pull the thing out of the cracked driver's window and shifting it only a few inches, Jeanie gave up, falling back onto the cement. "It's stuck," she breathed heavily, a hand coming up to press into her face, "I can't move it."

Lori struggled to steady herself enough to reply with great difficulty, "Its face is in the window."

Jeanie's hand fell away, brow furrowing, eyes shutting. Then, fingers squeezing tightly into her neck, she said quietly, "I'll smash the windscreen."

Lori's head whipped up, paling. "It'll fall on me!"

"It's okay, I'll be careful."

"I'm telling you, don't do it, just don't do it!"

Jeanie started a bit, seeming surprised at the force of Lori's words. Even Lori flinched, swallowing tightly after having barked out in anger, face paling all the more. She tried to pull herself together, breaths struggling to calm as her nose was assaulted by rotting flesh.

"...Climb into the ditch, and help me out the side there."

"But your leg—"

"I'll – I'll do it, I'll pull free, just – just get down there. ...Please."

"...Okay. Be careful."

Jeanie jumped down into the ditch, her head poking up over the side from where she stood elevated on a slight ledge and leaning into the passenger's window as she pried the door open. Lori turned to her own predicament, trying to put the impending struggle to crawl away out of her mind as she searched for what had incapacitated her. Her leg – it was caught on...a bag? Her bag, she realised with a choked laugh. Her handbag. She'd dropped it when she was trying to pull the AA map out of it. Must've gotten tangled in the brake pedals, and her leg with it, caught awkwardly to the side in the strap. Just a little faux-leather handle, really, from a cheap, backstreet accessory she'd bought years ago. And it had almost killed her. It took her a minute of bending over on herself awkwardly, face pressed uncomfortably close to the corpse, to free her foot – but then that was that, simple, all done.

She whipped her hand down to her side, shoved a mass of empty food cartons out of the way, and pressed down on the seatbelt release, struggling against the loosened strap for a moment before untangling herself. Then, relief nearly making her sob, she was crawling slowly over to Jeanie's outstretched arms, in them, pulled out, and shoved up onto the tarmac with a great push.

She lay there, in a little puddle of oil, staring at the sky as she heaved with breathing, body sagging heavily into the stable ground, tears she didn't know she'd shed drying on her dirtied cheeks. Jeanie appeared at her side a moment later, silently staring down into the road, on her knees as she leaned back against the toppled car without a care to the creak it elicited at the contact. A few crows flew overhead, as if to taunt them over the fact that they'd nearly died, practically invisible in the scarce light afforded by the moon and the dash light of the car. It was all Lori could do to not be hypnotised by their scarcely tangible circling and pass out.

Finally, after what felt like hours to her but had likely only been a few minutes, a thought abruptly shot through her mind. "...Rick," her eyes opened back from a long, heavy lull of having shut them, "...Rick." She sat up too quickly, head swimming a bit, her long swathe of hair tangling around her face with the movement. "...We need to get to Rick."

She looked over at Jeanie – she hadn't even looked up. In fact, she hadn't seemed to have moved at all in the time since they'd collapsed there, out so perilously in the open. She was still staring down into the dirt, into nothing.

Lori sat there for a long moment, unsure of what to do. Then, a strange pulse of energy overcame her – adrenaline, she supposed, having come much too late to help her when she so desperately needed it , now surging through her like a bullet. She pushed herself up a bit more, then a bit more – and then, all of a sudden, she was back on her feet, upright, looking down on Jeanie.

However, just before she was about to speak, to give a stark, 'Let's go' or 'We've got to go', she stopped herself. Hesitating for only a moment, her hand outstretched, and she bent at the waist.

"...Here. Let me help you up."

Jeanie looked up. A silence fell over them, punctuated only by the crows overhead, squawking with want of carrion. Lori waited uncomfortably, hand pulling back a fraction, brow denting.

Then, just before it got too much and she pulled away, Jeanie leaned over, picked up the machete that Lori had abandoned, stuffed it into her belt, and turned to grasp the awaiting hand. She pulled herself up, barely using the limb at all, not even pulling on it much – but she held onto it for a moment, nonetheless. Lori stared at her after she let go, arm falling, expression falling uncertainly about.

Jeanie turned away, staring ahead to the pitch black road.

"Let's go."

She walked on, without a glance back. Lori hesitated only a moment before following. The smouldering wreck of their abandoned car and the far-off groaning of scattered, undead beasts mingled in the darkness at their backs.

* * *

"...Hey. It's okay; we don't need to slow down."

Jeanie glanced up from where she'd been staring down at Lori's leg as they walked – and Lori hobbled a tad.

"...I could make you a splint, from a twig."

Lori's leg, having seemed fine at first when they'd started walking, had quickly degraded with the exercise of heaving her post-adrenaline rush, post-car crash body along an abandoned highway. After half an hour or so, it had been quite apparent that she shouldn't be walking at all – in having caught her foot in her bag, she'd twisted it somehow, and pulled the muscle. Still, even as a fraction of her screeched to just lie down and do nothing for days on end, to just stop moving, she couldn't. They had to keep moving.

"I'm fine. ...Thanks. Let's just keep on."

That was that. Jeanie turned back away, eyes on the road. She barely seemed to even recognise that Lori was there, really. She hadn't talked during the whole time they'd been walking. Lori had to wonder if she hadn't been spending too much time around Daryl.

Her leg twinged. To take her mind off of it and to stop the urge to hiss at the pain, she spoke - and decided that her last thought was as good as any to base a conversation off of.

"...So, what do you and Daryl talk about?"

Jeanie almost stopped. She turned again, an expression taking over her face for the first time that night, really – surprise. "What do you mean?"

"I wonder, sometimes," Lori admitted, unable to stop herself from snorting slightly, "We all do. I can't even imagine what he'd say to you when you're alone."

Jeanie stared at her, silent. Then, she turned back away, brow furrowing. "We just...talk. Why are you interested?"

"Just," another twinge, and Lori grimaced, "humour me."

"I don't know. What do you talk about with Rick?"

That caught Lori's attention, leg forgotten for a moment, pointing out with strained quiet so as not to draw unwanted attention, "Rick's my husband. Is Daryl yours?" No answer. Lori frowned, feeling suddenly vapid in the silence, embarrassed. "...I'm sorry. I was just trying to take my mind off this. And I'm worried about Rick," she swallowed deeply, brow denting, the truth of her words rushing over her. "God. I hope he's alright. Being out here – I'm becoming so used to the farm. It's so...we'll, it felt so safe compared to this. Before..."

A silence. Lori glanced round at Jeanie again, an abrupt need overwhelming her, "Listen – thank you. For back at the car. If it weren't for you," she broke off, eyes shutting against her will, the muscles in her hands twitching. Jeanie looked round for a moment at the movement, quiet and seemingly intent on listening. Lori tried not to look at her, coughing slightly, "I probably would've been killed. You helped me get out alive. So, thank y—"

Jeanie stopped. Her back straightened, frame tightening. For a moment, Lori thought she'd offended her somehow, touched a nerve in some way – but then, she heard it, too.

A car.

Rapidly, their situation changed. Jeanie was no longer supporting Lori – she was pulling her, off to the side, off the road, attempting to sprint them to safety. Lori tried to keep up, fear bursting through her with viciousness – but she kept tripping, kept nearly stumbling, and Jeanie wasn't big enough to support her completely, she was struggling—

A screech of tires, and a flash of light poured over them. Lori froze; Jeanie didn't. Her machete was out, in front of her, away from view. Lori faced the machine head-on, struck; she stayed in place, too late to hide, waiting for something to happen.

After an excruciatingly long moment, the driver's door popped open with a click, and a figure stepped out.

" _Shit!_ Are you okay?"

It was Shane. Unspeakably relieved, Lori stumbled forward, moving towards his quickly approaching form, a torch light dancing around in his grip and illuminating them all the more.

"I'm fine," Lori shouted back at him, croaking really, "I'm fine, we're okay, Jeanie's alright—"

He seemed to have forgotten about her. Arms halting in where they'd been about to enclose over Lori's back, he whipped his head up to find Jeanie staring at them both, silent. He paused for a long moment, Lori's exhausted breathing puffing up in the hot air of the evening, before addressing her.

"...You're okay too, then? No scrapes?"

"Fine."

Her tone matched his own: detached. If Shane was annoyed or disturbed by that, he didn't let it show: instead, he nodded briefly, and turned back to Lori, who was glancing between them, confused, but unwilling to ask about the strange atmosphere. Before she could even begin to discuss what had happened or where they intended to go, Shane began to pull her towards the car.

"Come on, we've gotta get you home."

Lori froze, hands twitching up to grab at his shifting arms, expression tensing.

"What? I can't leave. Rick's still out there."

He stared at her, shocked. Jeanie stayed silent at the back of them, not contributing anything at all. He'd be alone in this, then, he thought as he turned back to Lori and braced himself for a fight, jaw tightening.

"Lori, you can't seriously want to stay out here! You were just in a car crash, for fuck's sake—"

"I don't care! He's my husband!"

"You're hobbling, I can see you right now," she tried to move away, away from him looking, but he stopped her with a hand, "Don't bother pretending you're alright, Christ."

"It doesn't matter; you can drive us into town, and we can bring them home."

"No, I'm bringing _you_ home."

"No, Shane, no, you're not-!"

"Get in the car, Lori, and keep your voice down—"

"No, I won't, I'm not leaving without Rick—"

"Well, that's fine!" Shane had ignored his own command for quiet, shouting, a few birds that had been feeding nearby scattering to the wind. Lori started a fraction, expression tightening, and served as the only thing to bring him back a bit, voice a quiet, blunt mutter. "...Because he's back already, anyway."

A silence.

Lori stared at him, gaze narrow, body shifted at a strange angle, half away from him. "...Really?"

Shane swiped a hand over the back of his neck, sighing deeply. "Really."

Another pause. Lori frowned. "Why didn't you just tell me?"

"You never gave me a damn chance, that's why," a strained smile, "So damn set on just telling me what's what, that's why."

Crows in the distance, again. A few groans echoed from far off, atop a series of hills. A cloud passed over the moon. Posture falling, Lori sighed with immense relief, and then she was being pulled lightly to the car, off to the passenger's side, sinking back into the seat. Shane was about to close the door after her – but then she remembered.

"Jeanie?"

She'd moved. Her machete was back in its holster, in her belt, and she was standing out in the middle of the road, looking away from them. Lori stared at her, suddenly struck by a feeling of intense dread – and totally nonplussed as to why.

"...Jeanie, we're going home, now."

No reply. Shane decided to get involved now – impatience overtaking him, as it always seemed to do nowadays. His expression tightened, teeth baring a bit. "Jeanie, come on."

Still, nothing. They stayed quiet for a long moment, waiting, anticipating, formulating what the hell was going on.

Then, quite abruptly, Jeanie was running.

" _Jeanie!_ "

She was pounding forward on the road at a swift pace down an upcoming drop, much quicker than even Shane could run, in all actuality. Even Lori seemed to realise this, footsteps bounding around them, echoing into the night, and shouted in panic and confusion, tugging on his arm, trying to get him to move, "Shane, get in the car, we have to get her!"

"...Fuck."

He sprinted over to the driver's side, jumped in, closed the door, and started the car up. But, before Lori could be inundated with even the slightest hint of relief, a click sounded – the door locks. For a moment, she was so shocked and confused that she just stared at them, mouth gaping. Then, she was roaring.

" _Shane,_ _ **no**_ _—_ "

But it didn't matter, not in the slightest – without a backwards glance, Shane had reversed, turned, and driven off into the night, Lori's furious yelling echoing out of the rapidly shut window, Jeanie's disappearing form melding into the pitch black behind them.

**Author's Note:**

> As this is a long-running series for me (I'm still posting chapters on FFnet), the style changes quite a bit. I brought this first chapter more in line with my current style, but the next one is slightly different in how it is written. I'll probably come back and bring it in line another time, but as it is I am happy with how the chapters read.
> 
> Hope you enjoyed! Please feel free to leave a comment and check out my FFnet account 'Minty-Nutmeg' for more stories! Jeanie and my writings belong to me.


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